


Calefaction

by contronym



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4798586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contronym/pseuds/contronym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>noun<br/>1. the act of heating.<br/>2. a heated state.</p><p>Asami learns the hard way; fascination has no logical end.</p><p>[A 99% TV canon-compliant recount of Asami's infatuation]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue:  Trial by Fire (Ignition)

The stench of charred skin.  
  
It is sensory saturation, burrowing deep into memory banks - always so accessible, too easy to find, but impossible to expunge.  A decay unlike anything.  So consumptive, so overwhelming that you panic, convinced you will never experience another scent in your life - no stained leather.  No brewing coffee or old books.  No more fresh cut roses, lavender, or jasmine.  
  
Jasmine.  The choice fragrance of your mother, wafting through your halls and your nostrils and your childhood, its delicate familiarity and pervasive spirit a comfort in and of itself.  She always tends to each hedge with careful diligence, her own hands having planted each seed.  On the most special of afternoons, you sit in the garden, and you are too short to reach the petals, so she brings a flower for you to put in your hair, but you never do.  Instead, you twirl the stem in front of your grin for hours, willfully drowning in its aroma, and your mother laughs at your antics.  When you finally retreat inside, your small hands cradle the even smaller flower all the way to your room, rushing to open your press book to a blank page and a new entry.  You set the stem and petals flat against the parchment, your hands pushing firmly along the bindings of the book before slipping it beneath your mattress. 

Every night, as you lay to sleep, a jasmine nest overruns your consciousness, and you dream of lazy afternoons in the garden framed by your mother's smile.

  
Every night, _except_ tonight.  The night your dreams are permanently interrupted by dark smoke and scorched skin.  The garden behind your eyelids fades to grey, and you watch helplessly as petal after petal disintegrates between your hands.  You scramble to climb the foliage, but it is too late - everything smells of smoke.  
  
Eyes flying open in desperation, your young hands grip the sheets as you realize the smoke isn't a nightmare, but your intangible reality.  Nothing is visible through the haze in your room as you grasp for the edge of the bed blindly.  Your lungs feel ashed, your breathing labored and leaving you exasperated.  But the most alarming sensation is certainly the rot - the smell of singed skin, inevitably tied to silent screams.  
  
You've never experienced burnt skin before.  But even at six, there is no denying the assaultive odor.  You begin to wonder if it is actually you scorching away - if it is your own legs, abandoned in smoke-saturated sheets.  
  
You hyperventilate, falling to the floor roughly.  Disoriented, you claw at the threads of the carpet for traction, knowing that if you don't try, you will never escape the smell of burning flesh.  
  
You don't know how long you have been on the ground, fingers reaching desperately for life, before your palm discovers something recognizable - you wrap your hand around the knob and stand shakily, leaning with all of your weight against the door.  It won't budge.  
  
Time is running out - your lungs composed of particulate matter instead of oxygen, the heat in your room becoming unbearable.  You use the last of your energy to slam against the door once, twice, three times before falling to your knees, gripping your chest.  You cannot see your hands – you cannot really see anything, and you wonder if you’ve become a cloud of smoke yourself.

“Chief…Chief, I heard something!  Someone is stuck in here – I need water and firebenders over here, now!”

You faintly hear a stampede of footsteps, vision becoming blurry.  There’s a loud _BANG_ , before a rush of heat enters the room.  You try to cry out, but your throat is a gravel road that hasn’t seen rain in centuries.  You throw your hand in the air, hoping that it’s enough to let them know - _Yes, yes, I am hereI  I don’t want to burn away!_

Strong arms grab your extended limb, pulling you up and out of your room with haste.

“Stay with me, okay?  I am going to get you out of here.”

You allow yourself to stop fighting, sinking into an unfamiliar torso.  She takes off at a breakneck speed, reeling in large breaths, and exhaling out in powerful gusts.  You think you see flames, but they are gone before each step – as though her gasps alone will them from your path.

Soon, you recognize the entrance to your home.  The door is wide open and glass has shattered everywhere.  Waterbenders stand beside large hoses, spraying into the house.  A few of the lands keepers and security force workers are laid out on the curb, healers working vigorously to care for large burns and abrasions.

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay.  You’re safe now.”

 

If only that were true.

 

You notice a white blanket near the front door, smeared with dark red stains.  Only a hand is revealed, black and charred beyond recognition.  It sits curled and grotesque above the blanket, muscles and tendons exhibited beneath bones, deformed and discolored.  As the women steps to carry you outside, you take what feels like the first breath of your life, inhaling your own survival.  Only, as you attempt to fill your ashen lungs, you have to overcome the nausea-inducing odor of thick smoke, charred flesh, and…

You cough violently as you pass the body, turning your head towards the lifeless figure.  You look to their palm, reaching to the sky, just as yours had mere moments before.  And it’s almost unnoticeable, barely a trace, but unmistakable.  Undeniable.

 

Jasmine.

 

“M-..Mmmm-.. Mo-”  You are stuck somewhere between screaming and silence, between wailing and throwing up.  You twist in the woman’s arms, reaching desperately for the extended hand. You make contact just briefly, with only the index finger.  But it falls apart as soon as you touch it, as though the very human infrastructure was merely a myth.

The top digit of the finger vanishes, grey specks and ashes floating away into the flames, your nostrils forever scarred with the smell of death.

 

* * *

  
The Chief shows up at the door of your temporary housing unit.  The lodging itself is small and white, cubical and sterile.  Nothing to detect here besides disinfectant.

Your father hoped to recover important documents – his marriage certificate, your baby book, mother’s paintings.  You begged the investigation team to find your pressed flower book, desperate to sleep upon a jasmine bed and dream of gardens and smiles without scorch marks or smoke.

The Chief shakes her head disappointedly, relaying the news that very little in the house survived.  They manage to recover a few photos for your father, and he takes them gratefully, though tears still well in his eyes.

You look up hopefully towards the Chief as she removes her helmet and tucks it beneath her arm, kneeling down to you before putting her hands on your shoulders.  She lets you know your rescuer – a firefighter by the name of Zara – recounted your story, and told the precinct how brave you were to have fought so hard.

“You’re an incredible young woman, Asami.”

You stare unblinking, incapable of processing her rare praise.  And even though you may not, she understands what your silence means - what question lives in your muted reaction -  and solemnly reports that not even one page of the press book survived the inferno.

All that remained was a spine.

 

* * *

 

These days, you opt to spend most of your time in the Republic City Library.  Your father is working on repairs to the estate, but your stomach still twists in knots each time you walk through the door.  And so, you go to the library, where you sit and read to try to understand.

At first, you picked up the books with hesitancy, peering around the library as your hands gripped the leather covers.  As though the world knew that you weren’t doing what you needed, but rather what you so desperately wanted.

Now you walk up to the shelves with composure, thrumming your finger along the spines until you reach the desired reference section. 

> _FICTION AND NON-FICTION: BENDING_

You peruse the titles, plucking an unfinished book from yesterday from the shelf.  You only have two chapters remaining in _Firebending Stances, Edition III_ , but you know it takes you longer to read the firebending texts.  You have to take more breaks, close your eyes more often to breathe, or else risk the sensation of burned flesh flooding in to your present.

When you reach the final page of the manuscript, it says _“The key to fire is control.  Control your element.  Control your destruction.”_

You aren’t sure why, but you write down this last sentiment in your notes verbatim.

 

* * *

 

You recover faster than most children that lose their mothers.  Or at least, that’s what your therapist tells your father when they believe themselves out of earshot.

“Her response is remarkable – no withdrawal, no loss in appetite.  I have never seen anything like it.”

“This concerns you.”

“All that stress and grief has to go somewhere, Mr. Sato.  It is only a matter of time before we find out where.”

 

* * *

 

Four years go by, and you feel each second pass with incredible strain, your body constantly trying to recalibrate to the eerie chill that does not dissipate, and the vacancy that is never filled.

Your father is hosting another networking event – he has worked tirelessly to put Future Industries back on top of the tech and innovation markets, though without your mother’s support, you have noticed that it is hard on him.  You also know that he tries not to think of such things, and that his hours in the shop have become increasingly long, even when his projects are complete.

You see a young Fire Nation boy – Kuzir, the son of one of your father’s business partners.  He’s tall and lanky, but has handsome features for an eight year old.  You wouldn’t say he is your friend, but he is your age, and he tells you that you are very pretty, so you seek him out for these types of things.

 

Several business functions ago, he told you a secret.  He smiled with great pride, opening his small palm to reveal a flame no larger than teacup.  He did it unexpectedly, so you weren’t ready when your chest tightened and breathing became impossible.  You watched him with his palm raised, worry masking his features. 

“Did I scare you?”  The flame flickered and faded, his hand reaching for your forearm as you flinch away.

“I just…I wasn’t ready.”

You knew - your father would be furious, so the conversation stopped.  You and Kuzir joined the rest of the party, and did not exchange another word.

 

Tonight, you grab his hand with resolve and practically drag him away from the festivities, behind the house and into the yard.  You look to him with faux confidence, pressing into his wrists and directing his palms towards the sky.

“Show me.”

“But…”

“I’ll be fine.  Show me.”

Kuzir looks on with concern, but nonetheless takes a breath, and upon exhaling, two small flames dance across his palms.  You feel your heart rate skyrocket, and your pupils dilate in fear.

He seems to recognize your reaction and quickly hides the flames.

“See, I don't want to scare you.“

You swallow.  Hard. 

“Do it again.”

“What?  Asami, I don’t think th-“

“Kuzir,” you say, reaching for his hands hesitantly, then – not knowing what else to do - raise them to your lips softly.  “Do it again – do it for me.  Please.”

Wordlessly, Kuzir lowers his hands from your face and reignites, looking to you for permission to continue.

“Dad said I can train to control it, if I want," he mutters softly, trying to fill the silence. "I think I might try my hand at pro-bending."

Your breathing gradually evens, and you find the flames to be quite hypnotizing – the way they flex with the wind and resist the sea vapor.  You extend your hand out slowly, moving toward the fire.  The blaze vanishes, and Kuzir stares at you intently as you cup your hand around the back of his.

“Go on,” you say, barely above a whisper.

You feel his fingers stretch, and suddenly your hand is overwhelmed with searing heat.  You want to recoil, but force yourself to keep your hold on Kuzir, the heat soon encompassing his entire hand.  You bring your other hand to hover near the spectacle, already feeling your skin set ablaze.

Suddenly, you remember what it was like to stop breathing, to not know if your legs had melted away.  You want to vomit, but instead continue to reach steadily for the fire, barely registering the ever-elevating temperature.  Your own fingertips pale near the flame, shadows dancing up your forearm.

 _Control your destruction_.

You know you’re too close, but you don’t stop.  You _can't_.  Your hand just about grazes the wisp before-

“Asami!”

 

You both whip around to discover your father, huffing fiercely.

“Why don’t you go find your parents, Kuzir.”

“Yes sir.”  He departs obediently, casting a guilty look in your direction.  You find your father’s stern gaze next.

“Was that firebending, Asami?”

“Yes.”  You had never been one to lie.

“…I think it would be best if you don’t see Kuzir anymore.”

“Because he is a bender?”

“Because he is _dangerous_.”

You ball your fists, angry at the thought of losing Kuzir, and at the idea of relenting access to the bending that has captivated you for four years.

“A firebender _saved_ me, dad.”  You learned this in the library.  Zara, the woman who lifted you up and out of flames, is an accomplished firebender, powerful enough to breathe away fire.  You aren’t sure what prompts you to recite such a thing to your father, but it feels like what you need to say - and, again, you had never been one to lie.

“You’re wrong, Asami,” your father dissents, his voice dropping low.  A beat passes, before he states coldly, “A firebender _ruined_ you.”

 

Your father makes sure.  You never see Kuzir again.

 

* * *

 

The following morning, your father enrolls you in self-defense classes.

He boasts about the benefits of the course, claiming that you will learn to protect yourself against danger, even without him around.  But you know that, really, he means you will be able to defend yourself against benders.  And, perhaps most importantly, he hopes that the curriculum will provide enough distraction to protect you against yourself, and your misinformed notions of having bending exist in your life.

 

It doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Fascination has no logical end.  As such, you obsess over heat – the way it billows out of an exhaust pipe and radiates from a smoldering iron.  The factory becomes your new haven, raising your temperature more than books ever could.

At first your father is relieved, realizing after the Kuzir incident that you’d been self-educating, and feel much more comfortable and confident, having some way to regulate your exposure to information.  He takes great pride in teaching you to design a blueprint and manufacture a car engine, always hoping that if you learn enough, you’ll forget about Kuzir.  About Zara.  About your desire to be consumed.

This changes, of course, when he recognizes the look in your eyes as you weld two pieces of metal together - as you lean towards the blowtorch, allowing the sparks to kiss and scar your young skin.  He turns off the gas and flips his helmet to rest on his hairline.  You lift your own facemask, meeting his eyes.  He looks tired.

 

“I love you, dad.”  You aren’t sure where that comes from.  Perhaps you are trying to appease him, 14-year-old hands clenched in your work apron as though you have done something wrong.

He heads for the warehouse exit, back hunched and feet dragging just slightly.  Without facing you, he answers, “I love you too, Asami.  More than anything.”

 

The warehouse door closes behind him, and you are left alone with the blowtorch, still hot to the touch.


	2. Book 1: Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry for how long this update took. and thanks for sticking around. <3

You know you did not make a mistake.  You’ve driven the streets of Republic City since you were sixteen years old – these roads are as familiar to you as the back of your own workshop gloves.

Naturally, the pedestrian continues spouting off in arrogance, rubbing his head complete with a grimace and hollering on about not understanding how impossible it is that you 'didn’t see him.'

You know even before he opens his eyes – loud, outspoken, stubborn even when in the wrong – he must be a firebender.

 

 _Control your element_.

 

You step down from your moped and remove your helmet, flipping your hair behind your shoulders before meeting his gaze again.  You hear him stammer off as you apologize a few more times for the politeness' sake.  When you help him to his feet, you notice his tall stature and strong arms - your interest is piqued.  You hadn’t brought a firebender home in a long time, but you know this guy is not just _any_ firebender.

“Wait, I recognize you.  You’re Mako, right?" you deduce excitedly.  "You play for the Fire Ferrets."

He confirms your suspicions and shakes your hand.  Even under these circumstances, you can tell he wants to ask, so you beat him to the punch, casually inviting him out to dinner.  He’s flustered - uncharacteristic for a firebender - at the suggestion of Kwong’s.

“I don’t have any clothes nice enough for a place that classy.”

“I’ll take care of that.”  You remount your moped before he has the opportunity to argue.  “All you need to do is show up.”

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night,” reaches your ears before you offer a large smile and throw your helmet back on, revving the engine and leaving the firebender in the dust.

 

* * *

 

When your father agrees to sponsor the Fire Ferrets, you wonder if he has finally figured it out.

Once you’ve been burned, controlling the flame is the only way to know where it is.

 

* * *

 

Meeting Avatar Korra is even more interesting than you had anticipated.  You imagined a lot of fanfare, and prepared to shake the hand of a woman with global purpose and poise. 

Instead, you find a young girl with crossed arms and a scowl, intended just for you.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” you issue sweetly, wrapped around Mako’s elbow.  “He’s told me so much about you.”

“Really.”  Her eyes flash a dark grey before she spits out, “Because Mako hasn’t mentioned _you_.  At _all_.”

_Definitely talks like a firebender._

She stalks off to the press assembly, allowing you time to reflect on the tension, and how unhappy the Avatar is with your presence.  Or more specifically, your arm, coiled around Mako’s.  Or perhaps the way you inserted yourself, cool and contained, between two combustive entities, desperate to collide and explode.

You have your theories.  But one thing is certain.

 

> “ _I’ve never backed away from anything in my life!  I’m not afraid of anybody_!”

 

You have walked into a fire storm.  And this time, no one is going to come pull you out.

 

* * *

 

Match three of the pro-bending tournament proves to be a difficult one to endure for Fire Ferret fans.  A long-time spectator, pro-bending marked the closest firebending you could access aside from Zara and Kuzir.  You peer on from your balcony seat, knuckles clenched white over the jacket in your hands.  Even with Bolin's genuine and textbook earthbending, and the Avatar’s honed and tribal waterbending, all three ferrets are playing like firebenders tonight. 

The Buzzard Wasps make quick work of the team’s lack of equilibrium and cooperation – with Bolin’s typical sturdiness and Korra’s unreplicable adaptability absent from the equation, Mako’s brash heroics are left vulnerable.  You observe the team huddle following round two, noticing that everyone on the platform is agitated, hardly capable of looking at one another.

Once the round three buzzer rings, Mako almost immediately sails into the drink, swiftly followed by Bolin.  It is disappointing, and so you prepare to comfort and reassure Mako – firebenders don’t know how to lose.  You slide your sunglasses over your nose before realizing that Korra remains miraculously on the platform, somehow landing blow after blow against the Buzzard Wasps despite being outnumbered three to one.

The Avatar approached the entire match as a firebender uselessly trying to direct water while her stances and posture mirrored that of Mako’s – you imagine that is why they’d collided so many times during the match.  But alone, she seems more focused, almost meditative, commanding the arena on her own terms.  You stand and grip the edge of the viewing bar, leaning as far as you can without falling into the water yourself.  The ten second count goes off, and you bite your lip nervously, worried that Korra will slip up – perform some desperate, devastating firebending in order to not only knock out the Buzzard Wasps, but disqualify the Fire Ferrets from the championship.

Surprisingly, Korra’s body transitions from offensive to defensive in the final moments, waiting patiently, strategically, for an opportunity to strike.  It pays off - she launches a powerful surge of water, sending all three Buzzard Wasp players off the platform simultaneously, single-handedly dealing a match-cinching knock-out with two seconds to spare.

 

> “ _It’s the big kabash!  It didn’t seem possible folks, but the Fire Ferrets are headed to the finals_!”

 

As you hurriedly round the corner to the locker room, you throw your arms around Mako in pride, but only spare words for the Avatar.

“What a comeback, Korra.  I’ve never seen a hat trick like that.”

Unexpectedly, she offers you a humble smile issued with her thanks.  You observe the gray blaze in her eyes from your previous interactions dim, replaced with a blue spark unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

 

Tonight, when you verge on the edge of slumber, draped over Mako’s bare torso, you seem to know that neither of you are dreaming of fire, but rather, a piercing blue flame, burning completely out of your control.

 

* * *

  
The arena collapses around you. You watch electricity ripple through the dive, striking and incapacitating the Fire Ferrets.  They float lifelessly as you are ushered from the viewing balcony, your father’s hands guiding you from the seats.

“There is nothing you can do, Asami.”  You wince slightly at the jab, but your father seems to dismiss the condescension without skipping a beat, continuing with, “We need to move, or they will come for us next.”

You aren’t sure if he is implying the Equalist resistance, or vengeful benders (your friends).  But you hope you know your father well enough to guess.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Korra.  I was hoping you’d stop by,” you admit more candidly than intended.

Her disappointment is apparent as Bolin reveals that the bending brothers plan to stay with you instead of on Air Temple Island, so she tries to wrap her tongue around a polite response.  “I guess I’ll see you guys around sometime.”

You catch yourself asking, “Why not tomorrow?  I’d love to have you come visit the estate.”

Of course your invitation isn’t enough.  It takes Bolin and a Pabu puppet show for her to concede.

Regardless, it feels like a victory.  Even if you aren’t sure what exactly you are competing for.

 

* * *

 

You remind yourself that “what” is almost never as important as “why.”

 

* * *

 

The race track marks the first place you witness Korra don a helmet without the intention of battling another person, or three.  Her gladiator demeanor is replaced with excitement and curiosity as she files into the back of the racecar. 

The drag is over in moments, and you immediately take notice of the all-encompassing grin plastered under her visor when you send the other driver into a tailspin before crossing the finish line.

“That was amazing!  I didn’t think we’d make it.”

It is impossible to resist the smug smirk that tugs on the side of your lips, sensing her quiet compliment.  “You can’t be afraid to mix it up sometimes,” you tell her, amusedly.

She admits that she had not expected anything like _this_ – anything _this_ exciting, from a person like _you_.

“I can handle myself.  I’ve been in self-defense classes since I was this high,” you demonstrate with your hand held out as you step toward Korra.  “My dad made sure I would always be able to protect myself.”

Against fire.  Against benders. 

Against her.  (You feel your sturdy defenses giving way left and right around the Avatar.  But you choose to reserve that information for yourself.)

She smiles.  “Smart guy.”

 

* * *

 

Turns out your dad was right.

“Just because we’re not benders doesn’t mean we support those awful Equalists!”

You expect to find the fiery defiance Korra presented Mako upon his objection to the very same claim, but instead, the Avatar meets you with guilt and concern.

You are so practiced at fending against fire, that you aren’t sure how to field sincerity.  And so, you go furiously silent.

 

* * *

 

Turns out your dad was wrong.

“I don’t understand.  There must be an explanation.”

“Maybe you don’t know everything about your father.  I’m sorry.”  Korra offers you her first apology.  It isn’t for harboring jealousy over your relationship with Mako, or making sweeping assumptions about you based on your presentation and upbringing. 

She instead apologizes for being right.

 

Later, you will reflect on such an atonement and wonder how it is that Korra is not yet capable of airbending.  But for now, you lock eyes with the Avatar, and imagine that she is trying to bend all this terrible smoke out of your lungs.

 

* * *

 

“Dad, _stop_!”  Throat dry, you are surprised you are able to say the words at all.  You watch Mako and Bolin stand bravely, holding up the unconscious forms of the Avatar, the airbending master, and the Chief of police.  Based on the carnage before you, you deduce what he has done already – all that is left to ask brokenly is:

“ _Why_?”

“These people, these… _benders_ …They took away your mother.  But with Amon, we can _fix_ it.”

The realization sets in that - even after all of these years - your father is still trying to avenge your mother’s death, and your blood runs cold.

“Join me, Asami.”

The proposal makes your heart stop – his words imitating your mother’s gentle invitation each time you would journey out to the garden.  But instead of sweet jasmine, you are only reminded of the fiery nightmare that continues to creep beneath your skin and plague your slumber.

You peer just beyond your father to notice Korra stir slightly.  She looks worse for wear, clearly having fought against your father’s newly christened mecha suits, designed for an all-out war against benders.  Even so, you see Korra attempt to track the conversation, eyes hardly open, but fortitude shining through blue irises. Such perseverance makes you believe you must have some fight left in you, too. 

You look back to the shock glove your father has extended, willing your arm to move.  Reaching your palm out like you did in the blaze in your room all those years ago, you slide your hand easily into the glove, flexing your fingers to test the contraption.  Your father smiles, and you immediately feel nauseated.

 

 _Control your destruction_.

 

“I love you, dad.”

Electricity pulsates against your palm as you take fire in your hand the way you modeled with Kuzir.  You initiate a shock and surge forward, making contact with your father’s shoulder.  His body crumples to the floor of the warehouse, landing heavily against the concrete. 

The benders look to you with gaping jaws and wide eyes.  You aren’t sure which is worse – betraying your father, or your friends believing you wouldn’t.

 

Regardless, you wish for nothing more than to vanish in a cloud of smoke.

 

* * *

 

You wonder if the fire you feel engulfing your insides is something new, or if your father's revelation has thrown gallons of gasoline on starved brush, creating a wildfire that people see from hundreds of miles away, but cannot do anything to quell.

Mako’s hand meets your shoulder with a certain sensitivity that seems foreign.  You want to ask him to please just  _not_ , beg him to just be brash and abrasive and wholly predictable.

You need Mako to remain a firebender, and not convolve his flames with streaks of blue.

Still, you turn into his chest, wrapping yourself in the offered security, however coached and disingenuous it may be. 

 

* * *

 

Moving to Air Temple Island is full of surprises. 

> “ _Asami, did you know Korra likes Mako_?”

Though some arguably less surprising than others.

 

* * *

 

“Korrrrraaaaa!” Bolin calls as you walk up the Air Nation path.  Since escorting you to your dormitory, the Avatar has not been sighted.  Pabu leaps from Bolin’s shoulder, taking off for the top of the hill.  You all follow swiftly, Bolin rounding the corner first, releasing a relieved, “There you are.”

A moment passes, but Korra remains turned away from you.  Bolin asks if she is okay, Mako continuing to press with, “Come on, what’s wrong?”  You can hear the concern laced in his inquiry, even in its abrupt delivery that is so distinctly firebender, as always.

Korra takes a deep breath, finally facing the group, eyes drained and puffy, “How am I supposed to save the city when I can’t even learn airbending?  I’m the worst Avatar ever.  I just feel…alone.”

The suggestion is so preposterous, you have to fight down the urge to march over to the Avatar yourself, pick her up by the arms and recall all the incredible things she has done thus far for Republic City.  For Air Temple Island.  And even for you. 

 

So much of your childhood was dedicated to learning the formula behind bending.  You can explain the atomic manipulation – the way in which it allows for molecular interactions and consequent reactions that cause the earth to move or the rivers to halt.  If being a good physicist is all it took to bend, then you’d be the damn Avatar yourself.

But you know as well as anyone, you are bound to be an engineer, and just that.  A formulaic inventor that perceives the world in values.  And you also know that being an engineer does not stop at the loading dock to the factory, or the door to your blueprint studio. 

Korra may have been raised a waterbender, but she’s never _not_ been an airbender, no matter how much the world tries to tell her otherwise.

You want to say that airbending is not always about creating currents – sometimes it’s about squelching fires.  About standing up to Mako and Future Industries.  About exposing a corrupt Equalist leader.

But mostly, you think it’s about making sure everyone around you believes, even when it seems impossible, that they can keep breathing.

 

You want to remind her that she has done all this and more, but you cannot find a way to say so.  Instead, you rush out, “No, that’s nonsense!  You’re amazing.”

You hope that helps, though somewhere inside of you, you know it doesn’t say nearly enough.

 

* * *

 

Moving to Air Temple Island is full of surprises. 

“I figure one way to fight an Equalist, is to use an Equalist weapon.”

Though some arguably more surprising than others.

 

* * *

 

Driving a Sato-designed car while wearing a Sato-innovated electric glove as you chauffeur Team Avatar around Republic City to combat the Sato-bred Equalist movement is a bittersweet venture. 

You know that you are fighting to exact vengeance against your own father, who only fought to avenge your mother's execution, who would most likely be terribly disappointed in you both.  Even so, the glove hardly leaves your hand these days - you don't want to miss an opportunity to achieve peace, however unrealistic the prospect.

 

* * *

 

The flame between you and Mako has suffocated for some time, as it was bound to, even according to your own blueprint.  But still, you are aggravated at Korra and Mako conversing lowly in the backseat.

You consider why.  Because Mako proved to be a firebender through and through, living down to his destructive will while leaving small, combustible scars in his wake?  Maybe it is because you can foresee where the fire is bound to spread - her excited smiles, enthusiastic conversation, small lingering gestures upon his skin - you knowing that she will only walk away with burns the size of her heart?  It is probably because you have to watch two firebenders - one a professional incinerator, the other the most unique firebender in the world - become enamored with one another.  You will observe what will be, even as a woman raised on business, the most cataclysmic boom and bust you've ever witnessed.

An equation that could never, ever include you in it.

Whatever the reason for your sudden agitation, even though you had never planned to contain Mako for long, you have this nagging feeling that something is slipping away that you were never meant to lose.

 

* * *

  
  
"Avatar Korra, you and your playmates have no business here."

"We are not going anywhere!  You don't have the right to treat these innocent people like criminals."

"This is an  _Equalist_  rally."  Tarrlok snarls, staring directly at you.   "There's nothing _innocent_  about it."

You scan the crowd, finding only terrified parents and children, elderly persons looking to your group with petrified old eyes.  You meet all of their gazes, behind intimidating blockades, and you make sure - not one of them gives you the look your father did.

"They are not Equalists,” you proclaim hurriedly, desperate for traction.  “They're just normal people who want their rights back.”

Clearly incensed, Tarrlok hollers, "Round up these  _Equalists_!"

The barricade boards eject from their fastenings and into the air with a frightening crack.  Suddenly, each detained citizen is bound in a large circle of planks, unable to move or escape.  The ground from beneath their feet lifts from the road, effectively trapping them midair, rendering them utterly powerless.

"STOP!"  Korra commands immediately, bending the lifted chunks of asphalt back into their craters.  The citizens begin ducking under the barricade plank railings, running onto level ground.

You are so shocked by the power display that you do not notice Tarrlok's waterbending until it's too late - your hands are bound in water cuffs, and your body begins to get dragged towards the police force.  

"Hey!"  You cry, futilely.  "Let me go!"

Tarrlok mutters something about you the non-bender, and your father the Equalist conspirator, of which neither label is untrue, meaning neither can simply roll off you. 

It's now that you realize water doesn't just have to flow - it can stab and restrain, it can carry you under its currents and never let you free.

 

Next thing you know, Mako and Bolin wind up wrapped in metal coils, and are pulled towards the police holding vehicle, too.

"Tarrlok!"  Korra bellows as she bends two immense slabs of Earth into the air.  She holds them above her head with ease, aiming them directly at the police force, determined to protect Team Avatar at all costs.  Although eventually Korra relents, and you and the brothers are placed in a holding transport vehicle, you will never forget the sheer strength radiating from her presence in that standoff. 

 

You have heard that the Avatar's eyes turn white in moments of great duress and passion.  But you wonder what could be more intimidating than an ice blue flame threatening to singe through your heart.

 

* * *

 

"Hey.  Is Mako alright?  He seems really worried about Korra."  Urgency floods you since learning of her disappearance.  You don't have the emotional or physical capacity to process your own distress, and thus ask Bolin about Mako's in a veiled attempt at distraction.  Classic projection and deflection. 

"We all are."

"Do you think he likes Korra as more than just a friend?"  You know this isn’t the right time to inquire, and besides, you already know the answer to these questions, but you ask anyway.  Anything to stop questioning yourself and your own feverish thoughts.

"I mean...during the tournament, Mako and Korra kissed but-"

"They kissed?"  You aren't so much surprised as you are disappointed.  Disappointed in Mako, disappointed in Korra, and disappointed in yourself for trusting them, knowing that they both have consumptive flames begging for fuel.

Bolin frowns, looking as though he made some grand mistake.  "I don't think it meant anything," he says quietly, trying to recover.

 

"I doubt that."

 

* * *

 

Being bloodbent by Tarrlok marks the second time you have ever been harmed by waterbending.   

You have always been fascinated by and terrified of burning to death - skin melting to muscle melting to bone, and eventually disintegrating to nothing but ashen memories.

Now, as your arteries and capillaries learn to expand again, and your extremities go from lifeless to searing vitality, you wonder if there are worse ways to die than being swallowed by flames.

 

* * *

 

It seems that being part of Team Avatar comes with no shortage of emotional turmoil.

Upon seeing the Avatar's lifeless body atop Naga's saddle, your throat clenches.  You want to cry out, beg her to be flippant with Tenzin or stubborn with Mako.  Anything to show that she has not been completely extinguished.

Mako isn't patient enough to wait.  He barrels through the group, over the airbending master and the Chief of police, reaching out desperately for Korra's limp frame.  She leans into his hold, which is both a relief and an incredible betrayal. 

You do not possess the strength to dwell on the matter, but if you did, you would realize it is not Mako's actions that are tightening around your chest like a tiger-boa constrictor, threatening to squeeze you down to nothing.

 

As you have recently learned, only waterbending is capable of such things.

 

* * *

 

"You have feelings for her, don't you."  It is not a question.

"She was taken by a crazy bloodbender.  How did you expect me to act?" Also not a question.

"Look.  I like Korra,"  A pause.  You breathe in quickly, worried your silence discloses more than even you understand.   "But you've been keeping the truth from me this entire time." 

More classic projection and deflection.  You’re getting awfully good at this.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The _kiss_ , Mako."  You hiss the word, being only your second time referencing the incident out loud.  "I know."

You wrap up the last of the dishes, hearing Mako fumble through some poorly manufactured excuses.  He blames Bolin, causing you to bristle – not only because he would rather deduce how you found out than acknowledge that he was wrong, but also because it is unfathomable to him to believe Korra would impart such information onto you.

You decide as you storm away from the kitchen that, as far as you're concerned, you have let this flame fizzle out.

You know it to be fruitless to inform Mako.  He's a firebender - he has to have some impression that the destruction is his decision, his making.  And so, you move on without another word, letting him devise a way to let you down easy, not knowing that you descended from that cloud before he even has time to boil water for the Avatar’s tea.

 

* * *

 

Every mecha tank battle, you see your father.  No matter how much pilot glass you smash, you find his smile in your reflection.  And so you pummel glass until it slices through your shock glove, blood smearing the windshields so all you can see is yourself again.

 

* * *

 

The papers emphasize that you are the new owner of Future Industries – they dub you the 'youngest business owner in Republic City'.  But as you peer around the sewers, at all the tired mothers, and their daughters sewing clothes and purses, preparing to bargain away their week's worth of labor for a half of a loaf of bread, you realize not only are the papers wrong, but the course of events leading you to the false title are nothing to be proud of.  
  
If you come out of this alive, you will make sure the way you earned the title pales in comparison to what you decide to do with it.

 

* * *

 

Iroh II devises a grand scheme to finally put a stop your father.  You wish you could be happy, but instead your insides feel like they have been rotting, and today marks the day that your eyes and mouth and heart will decay alongside them.  You have trouble standing, knowing what is right is not easy, but what is wrong is also not easy.  And so you state a fact, because that's the only thing that has not failed you lately.

"It's time to take down my father."

You await words of support, assuming that someone will speak up, even if you don’t want them to.  Tell you how sorry they are, and remind you of how hard this all must be.  Instead:

"Wait."  You turn to face the Avatar, waiting for her to finish.  "I'm sorry."  The expected apology, followed by an unexpected retraction, "I'm not going with you tomorrow."

She explains her intent to challenge Amon head on, and you know you aren't the only one to bite your tongue in the face of her decision.  On one hand you wish you had her strength - the ability to take on your father yourself, wiping his name from this entire mess - for their sakes, his, and your own.  On the other hand, you are terrified to let the Avatar go alone against the man that almost killed her twice.

 

Next, you hear Mako announce that he'll go with her.  Ever the brash martyr - go down in a round of flames, rescuing his love, the Avatar.

"Asami, I'm sorry."  He says.  Apology number two, followed by, "things got so messed up between us but whatever happens today, I want you to know that I care about you."

There is the validation he requires.  A genuine firebender, always believing he is in control of his own destruction - how much he destroys, to what extent, and the resulting damage control he chooses to exercise in the smoky haze.

You kiss his cheek and reply earnestly, "I care about you too."

That is what the books say the burned will do, after all.

 

* * *

 

You know this is the last time you will combat your father.  You also know only one of you will be making it out victorious.  And so you brace yourself for the thought, and potential, of orphaning yourself.

You throw up four times before arriving to the airfield.  If Iroh II or Bolin notice, they are too kind or embarrassed to say anything.  You remind yourself to make it up to them, circumstances allowing.

You are so distracted that you hardly notice fence posts, lining the entire tarmac, until you are standing directly between them.

“Why would there be fence posts, but no fence?”

Your body suddenly seizes, and for the second time in your life, a crackling heat engulfs you whole.  You only get a few moments – a glimpse of Bolin’s grimace, Iroh II falling to the ground, a flash of electricity bouncing from your own skin – before your reality slips away all together.

 

* * *

 

You awake in a cell.  You were angry Tarrlok locked you away at the protest, but knowing your father put you behind bars ignites a rage within you that you cannot calm.

“Asami.  I know I have hurt you, and I am sorry.”  A third apology.  And then, “But I believe that one day you will come to your senses, and we can be a family again.”

“Are you _insane_?!  How can we be a family after everything you’ve done?” 

 

You pause, knowing full well the next words are probably the last you will ever say to your father. 

“Mom would _hate_ you for you what you’ve become.” 

 

 _Control your destruction._  

 

His body goes rigid, fury saturating every muscle.  “How _dare_ you!” He spews.

He turns to issue orders – instructions to annihilate the United Forces fleet.

Fatedly, you see water tribe colors careen through the door to the airhold.  It unfolds so fast you almost have to blink to believe it – Bolin confirms with a loud, “We got Naga!”

The holding cell crumples beneath her strength as she slams her paws into the structure, metal bars groaning from the pressure before they twist and snap all together.  It is reminiscent of Korra standing up to Tarrlok’s corruption, holding two large pieces of Earth above her head, threatening to crush those in her way.  You find it fitting, that Naga be the beast companion to Avatar Korra, as she creates your escape.

You wonder if the Avatar is battling Amon yet.  If she is scared, or alive.  If she’d want you there to fight next to her, even though it’s your own father who is mostly responsible for this crisis.  You decide that, regardless, you have to try to get to her side, even if it is ultimately only to be blamed and penalized.  After all that the Avatar has done, it’s the least you can do.

 

And so you leap into your first mecha tank, sliding your hands over the cold gears.  The cockpit closes, and you know that you no longer have to face your father’s reflection from the outside, permeating through your hairline and your eyes and your smile.  From inside the mecha tank, all you will be able to see is your father and his own devastation.

You begin to destroy everything in sight.  Airplanes, mecha tanks, chiblocker weapons – you smash until there is no semblance of your father left.  That is, until your father shows up in an armed mecha tank of his own.

 

“I now see there is no chance to save you!”

You aren’t sure if he concludes this from your bending alliances, your anti-Equalist sentiment, or from yourself and your ideologies.  Your father charges you all the same, the impact throwing you against the back of your own mecha tank.  Your grip tightens on the controls while you desperately attempt to fend him off, but his surprise assualt has given him an upper hand.  He begins demolishing your mecha tank’s windshield, and you feel glass shards lodging along your brow and in your shoulders.   You realize now, that it is actually  _him_  you can’t be saved from, as he rears an arm back from the mecha tank, preparing to pummel into your cockpit.

 

A boulder comes soaring into your father, pitching him and his mecha tank off balance.  Yet another reason to shower Bolin with thanks, once this whole nightmare is over.  It allows you just enough time to reposition and reach out to your father’s mecha tank.  Your aim proves true, your own mecha tank arms ripping his machinery to shreds.  He spares you one last look of disgust and fear before attempting to flee the warehouse.

You feel the tears escaping, but you remember jasmine scented pages, and sharp blue irises, and know you have the strength to do what you have to.

“You really are a terrible father.”

A shock rope launches towards his ankles, watching as you electrocute your father for the second time.  You stare at his motionless form long enough to say, with confidence, that you will never need to do it for a third.

 

* * *

 

Korra breaks the bloodbending rule. 

You know about this rare form of bending, having read several books and official documents on the practice, and experiencing being bloodbent yourself.  So also are you aware of how miraculous of a feat the Avatar had just achieved.

Korra accomplished what is described in all of your books as the impossible.  (You are beginning to believe that Korra, with all of her abilities, bending or not, isn’t really something that can be contained in or limited to text.)

Without waterbending or Avatar state capabilities, Korra still managed to shatter the bloodbending bind and defeat Amon, reveal Noatak, and effectively decapitate the Equalist movement.  It’s not as though the limbs won’t flail, of course – it is almost guaranteed that the totem, with its hands and legs anxious for direction and justice, will grow a new head and paint a new face in its place.

As for such remaining Equalist sentiment, you know that you would rather die than allow anyone else to clean up your father’s mess again.  Such guilt over the Equalist movement and its impact only amplifies as you learn what happened to the Avatar.

About Korra gaining the capacity to breathe, but losing the ability to light her own darkness.

 

After being bloodbent by Amon and robbed of her bending, you discover that Korra is finally able to access her airbending.  Of course, she didn’t learn airbending to rescue herself or her own sacred bending abilities – only when Mako’s bending was jeopardized did she tap into her airbending power.

You wonder if she would have sacrificed the same for others – if Amon were about to decimate Tenzin.  Or Bolin.  Or you.

You imagine the answer to be honorably and admirably yes, and would be no matter how many times she is presented with such a scenario.  Even with such a tragic outcome.

You watch as Mako chases her into the snowy tundra of the Southern Water Tribe compound – he must feel accountable, continuing to possess his firebending at the expense of the Avatar’s.  Or maybe he sees exactly what he wants to see (as most firebenders do), and is seizing the moment to establish himself as hers and hers alone.

Selfish, you think, to capitalize on her vulnerability when she has lost so much more than he could ever understand.  To pursue her now, after she has given up so much.

You scowl at the door, thinking it wrong of him to be this way, knowing full well you would wish for the chance to do the same, if you had any right to.

 

* * *

 

She returns, her eyes a brilliant white as she restores Lin’s bending. 

You thought you would miss the blue blaze, but you never imagined how stunning the Avatar’s power could appear, emanating through Korra’s body.  And you realize that she doesn’t only have the power to illuminate her own bright, ancient, beautiful eyes.

She lights up the entire world. 

 

 _Control your element_.

 

Even yours.


	3. Book 1.5: Trial & Error

You know that you did not make a mistake.  And yet, the burden of your father’s trial feels shared - as though the police and the judge and the victims and the people of Republic City question your motives just as much as they suspect him of treason.

 

> _"My son was recruited by them.  He was told that the revolution would save us."_
> 
> _"I am employed - pardon, was employed, at the electrical plant.  My bending was taken, and I have since lost my job and my home."_

> _"My mother worked in that arena as an usher for thirty years.  I haven't seen her since the championship."_

> _"I fought under General Iroh II, during the seige on Yue Bay.  You called upon my entire unit, but I am the only one available.  I am the only one that survived."_

 

And, finally:

 

> _“Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"_

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

The court requires a statement from you, to testify to your father’s terrorism and mania.  You hold your breath, hoping your practiced lips can deliver the information that your heart has not yet been able to reconcile.

"Hiroshi Sato assaulted Chief Lin Beifong, Master Tenzin, Avatar Korra, Bolin, and several members of the metalbending police force.  He developed lethal weapons and technology, and proceeded to use it liberally on both innocent persons as well as to attack the United Forces fleet, destroying their armada.  He imprisoned hostages, and supported Noatak's alias, also known as Amon, in forcefully removing bending abilities from benders across Republic City.  He lied during a police investigation, and was complicit in the attack on Air Temple Island.  And…”  Your voice catches in your throat, unsure of how to wrap your swollen tongue and your precious oxygen around the admission you need to say but would do absolutely anything _not_  to.  “And Hiroshi Sato made an attempt on my life.”

You know you shouldn’t, but you _have_ to, so you find his eyes during this declaration, his weary, creased face wearing a mix of emotions - resentment, surrender, and misery certainly being accounted for, but, you identify one that seems to overwhelm them all.

 

Your father is utterly heartbroken, handcuffs jingling softly as he tries to wipe his eyes.

 

It is hardly the appropriate time and place for such thoughts, and you have even less of a right to be so, but you are suddenly jealous of Avatar Korra - jealous that her demon ran away, while you managed to capture yours alive, keeping him with arm's reach, and close enough to haunt you forever.  You are even more jealous of her ability to redeem your own father's treachery, with brilliance and bravery - defeating Amon, restoring Lin’s earthbending, exposing the truth for all to see.  Envious of the fact that she doesn't have to be in this courtroom, watching the gavel rip her world apart.  And yet, you still look, anxious to meet the azure wells responsible for you discovering, confronting, and dethroning your own father.

You aren't surprised when you do not see them. However, in their stead, you find a substitute pair of green eyes, boring right into your own, unwavering.

Bolin holds your stare attentively - a rare moment when a smile is not stretched across his lips.  He looks upon you with incredible sympathy, as though _you_ were the one orphaned as a child, left with the incredible burden of taking care of yourself well before you are ready.

 

Then you realize.  Well.

 

 

You know that you did not make a mistake.  Which means you are only left to consider the brutality of fate.  Calculating exactly just how predetermined life’s outcomes must be as a mere result of existing – as a direct consequence of being born to none other than Hiroshi Sato, the man that loves you more than anything.

 

* * *

 

Over the past three months, you have made some important changes.

 

You make it a point to vote in the presidential election - an imperfect yet remarkable development for Republic City, and a sign that the city is capable of progress and growth, of learning from its mistakes.

You also make a point to bring extra security, accompanying you to and from the ballot box - you are an accomplished fighter, but even you know your limits, if they were to catch you by surprise, if they were to ambush you (visions of your mother's charred hand flash in and out of your head tauntingly). Too many times, you have met watching eyes at the edges of your estate, staring in as though your legacy is an animal on exhibit, your beasthood barely contained behind the bars of implied luxury.  Being escorted as though you are an electoral nominee yourself isn’t the ideal way to experience your first democratic election, but you aren’t in any position to complain about fearing for your life; not when your last name is, for many, synonymous with the opposite.

 

You grow closer to Bolin each day, which proves to be a rather effortless development, on your part.  He just continues to show up without solicitation, and you appreciate that he knows you need him to do exactly that.  

Though you do wonder if maybe he feels the same isolation, having fallen for the allure of the Avatar and being rebuffed.  Being cast aside as his brother dates their mutual love interest, abandoning pro-bending and the infamous 'Bending Brothers' because nothing can compare to Team Avatar,  _loving_  the Avatar, and being an esteemed Republic City Officer.

Perhaps he feels like a helpless outsider, what with Mako constantly on the beat, you consumed by tinkering efforts to salvage a dying company, and Korra perpetually tasked with being a hero (she never fails, making her the best at her job out of the lot of you).

But Bolin falters a bit more - struggles to find his footing, in that he is good at a great many things, but others aren’t as good at taking him seriously.  Aren’t as good at considering what he can truly do.

Actually, others just aren’t as genuinely good as Bolin, _period_.

(You promise yourself that you will do more for him, when you can.  That you will show him you do not underestimate him.  That yes, you are depending on him without formally confessing as such; but this extends beyond throwing your father off kilter. He means something to you, past the boundaries of the the tarmac where you almost died, and outside the walls of the courtroom where you are reminded to regret the 'almost'.)

You hope he knows that you would show up, if being present was something within your grasp.  That the Fire Ferret matches would be an incredible escape, if only you could forget about your father's massacre, facilitated in that very stadium.  If the Republic would stop whispering your name and ‘ _E_ _qualist blood_ ’ in the same sentence.  If the bending audience would not look upon you with clenched fists and narrowed eyes, as though you have chosen to hide behind Amon’s mask yourself, only burned and scarred flesh remaining underneath.

 

It is amazing, how much more your father has taken away from you than just your surname.  

_Control your destruction._

And it is even more amazing, while surrounded by a sea of fearing, vengeful benders, how Bolin refuses to treat you like the monster that taught you all that you know.

 

You have a lot of projects now, marking one change you are especially grateful for - you have never endured a time when distractions were more welcomed.  And, having considering potential alternatives - libations and indulgences of every variety, solutions you’d never imagined exploring in order to achieve the simplest daily milestones, such as sleeping or waking up -  you are thankful for your own mind, its salience, and its ability to divert your focus with a passion for numbers and heat and acceleration.

Though, between all of your commitments - public relations press conferences, campaigning for housing access and reform (something you pay special attention to, after witnessing conditions for those residing in the sewers), bridging bender and non-bender spaces, sponsoring rehabilitation services for ex-Equalists and their victims - you do not spend nearly as many days in front of the drawing board as you would like, and hours in the warehouse are all but eliminated.

 

Still, you manage to make time to fiddle with one device - the one that should never bear your fingerprints, considering how, now, someone is _always_ looking for your traces in the most incriminating of places, but you can’t help running your cold hands over the even colder fingers.

You could kill someone, you think.  Maybe you have - after all, you know how hearts work.  How voltage can render the beating pump asystolic in under a second.

Or maybe, _yes_ , you have  _definitely_ killed people.  And not just Equalists - how about every person assassinated by your father following the championship match?  Each person wiped out for being a bender, or being near benders, or loving benders, while you were trapped in a haze of denial, unjustly shifting blame and hostility onto the Avatar.  How many casualties would there be, if you had just listened?  How many fewer victims would you have to account for?  

 

As your skin recalls harnessing the heat in your palm, the electrical flame spilling over the shock glove and into your father's chest wall, you can’t help that your heart hammers against your bones, a sick smile stretching across your lips at the memory.

_Control your element._

 

 

You have certainly made some changes.  Though, not all of them are for the better.

 

* * *

 

Both fortunately and tragically, your father possessed the foresight not to mix work and play.  

 

Future Industries' employees have always received fair, if not generous, compensation, supplemented by a work environment supportive of and flexible to personnel needs.  This employer/employee relationship model seems to have effectively deterred a significant amount of Equalist support from the Future Industries staff pool.

There is still an investigation, of course. Even after forcing you to surrender the blueprints for biplanes, shock gloves, mechatanks - injecting a background paranoia into your already tortured conscience, anxiously anticipating the day in which you will see more bombs drop from the sky by Hiroshi's design - the metalbending officers remain hungry for vengeance.  They stalk alongside you, interrogating employees as though they, by simply showing up to work, have confessed to criminality.  Each day, you find them on your premises, badges out and shining, requesting to observe the factory or gain access to confidential paper trails, eyes wary as they navigate assembly lines and file rooms.  You feel this is inherently wrong, subjecting your employees to such a power dynamic - a witch hunt that you wish could be reserved only for you.  

Thankfully, the investigators determine that the few Equalists affiliated with Future Industries were required to leave their positions within the company before participating in the political revolution, and had been paid for such activities off the books from personal funds, leaving the company legally in the clear – which is, unknowingly, the kindest decision your father made for you in years.

 

* * *

 

“The police are still tracking me.”

“I know,” Mako confirms, brows furrowing discontentedly.

“It is an inexcusable, irresponsible waste of resources.  If the Equalists taught us _anything,_ it is that our law enforcement needs to focus, now more than ever, on Triad activity, and the Triple Threats.”

“It’s not that simple, Asami,” Mako mutters under his breath, kicking a rock outside of the precinct.  

“Mako, you must remember the curfew.  Shutting off their electricity.  Equalists and suspected Equalists aren’t the only terrorists in this city.”

Mako flinches at the word.  In many ways, it is a leveling experience.  Mako’s previous relationship with the Triple Threats being thrust in his face, to remind him that he is partly accountable for their devastation and the stranglehold they have on certain districts within Republic City, parallels the guilt you feel for being a Sato.

“Besides, if it weren't for Korra saving Republic City, you, Bolin, _and_ the Chief wouldn't be able to bend anymore - you would be subjected to whatever syndicate system we allow to own our streets, instead of running numbers for them.”

 

You know you have hit a nerve, as his shoulders stiffen, body looking straight as a board.  You don’t mean to be harsh - you acknowledge how arduous it must have been, to survive as a homeless older brother in a cold city that would rather forget you than rescue you.  And you know his new position on the police force allows him the opportunity to redeem his actions (a torch and badge you enviously wish you could bear).  Still, you need Mako not just to understand - you need to a light a fire beneath him and his newly-acquired privilege and power.  You need him to dosomething more - more than what your untrustworthy hands are capable of.

 

“Non-benders are still _terrified_.  I expected a more concentrated effort on behalf of the department to secure these spaces for them - to allow them to work and live peacefully.”

“We are trying, but our numbers are small.  And the metalbending force is stretched really thin right now, in the afterm-”  He stops short, looking to you with wide eyes over his near stumble.  

_In the aftermath of the Equalists_.  You know.

 

“Why can’t you grow?  Expand?  Is it impossible to imagine Cheif Beifong commanding people that do not possess metalbending?  What about utilizing people that don’t bend, at all?  Or do we have to establish two entirely separate chiefs - one to cater to the metalbending police force, and one to take charge of everyone else that wants to make a difference?”

“...What are you trying to say, Asami?”

“That disbanding the council in support of a democratic election is a good first step.  But having an exclusively metalbending special operations team, and a metalbending chief of police, needs to be evaluated as well.  Or else we risk never gaining the trust of non-benders again, while also eliminating perfectly qualified candidates that want to help our city recover, but are not eligible simply because they cannot bend handcuffs together.”

“Asami." Your name escapes his lips with an unprecedented level of seriousness. "Saying things like _that_ will keep us watching your every move.”

You know he means 'us' as a generalized address for the department - it is not intended as a threat as much as it is an expression of concern, but you are angry.  And, besides.

“And it is sentiment like _that_ that leads people to believe you make a fine replacement for Councilman Tarrlok.”

 

You have always known how to stoke a fire.

 

He practically growls in response, “You are comparing me to that monster?!  After what he did to Korra?”

 _He bloodbent me_ too _, you know_ , you want to spit out selfishly.  But as good as you are at fanning a flame, you're even better at igniting your own self.  Burning all the dried brush sticking from your skin, until the flames make people forget the scarecrow with sunken eyes and a neglected heart, underneath it all.

 

“I am sorry, Mako.  I shouldn't have said that.”

“Did you mean it?”

You reply genuinely, “No.  You know I didn't.”

 

A short silence to interrupt the firefight; you can feel the heat and tension escape the conversation.

“I will tell the officers to back off.  I am just a rookie - I don’t know if they will listen.  But if they don't want to believe me, I will tell them I accept full responsibility for if you ever...you know, go rogue.”

“Are you worried that I will?”

He replies with a fierceness only found in sincerity, “No.  You know I’m not.”

 

 

Days later, you read a headline reporting on renewed police efforts to dismantle the Triads and Triple Threats, a handsome picture of Officer Mako standing in front of a group of the delinquents themselves, hands fastened behind their backs.

You know that he has a personal score to settle with them, and with his past self, but you convince yourself that he believes in equality, too.  That he considers non-bender security and presence to be important.

 

Most critically, you like to think you played some part in all this. A role that doesn't involve an Equalist glove or a mask of terror.

 

_Control your destruction._

 

Even if it means setting yourself ablaze in order to light the way.

 

* * *

 

“And what _exactly_ are you proposing we do, then?”

Tarza, your economic advisor, scoffs condescendingly, as though the answer is obvious.  “Simple. Phase them out.”

You narrow your eyes without realizing, though the glare is not unintentional.  “You are suggesting we layoff _non_ -benders?  After what happened with Hiroshi?”

You have become accustomed to calling him by his first name.  You say it is for professional purposes, but you know, deep down - it is more personal than you could ever admit.

“That is exactly why we _have_ to fire non-benders _.”_ He rests his elbows on the table, crossing his hands confidently.  “Hiring a slew of new benders will be great PR.  And let us not be dramatic.  It is only the non-benders in the assembly lines, with specific duties, that should be replaced by benders, if it means they will complete their job tasks more efficiently.  Trust me, I hate to fire the breadwinner of a family as much as the next guy, but we cannot afford to ignore the fact that we could hire one bender for every two non-benders, in some positions.  Now, you will have to offer them higher wages, of course...it is a wonder how Future Industries has advanced without paying benders a wage that recognizes their more capable and profitable contributions to work of this nature.”

You bite your tongue behind closed lips, trying to conceal your fury.

It does not work.  Tarza smiles, recognizing the crack in your surface, and you swear for a moment that you see fangs.  “I know this is a lot to handle, but this is _business,_ sweetheart.  You are going to need to accept it.”

“I don't _need_ to accept _anything_ ,” you seethe.  You hardly raise your voice, but you stand so abruptly that your legs send your own chair flying, toppling to the floor with a loud crash.  

Tarza is unfazed by your demonstration.  “Then there is no _future_ in Future Industries.  You are dooming yourself and your company due to whimsical notions of equity and justice.”  He stands to meet you, before moving to tower over you.  “I didn't want to resort to this, but you need to _man_ the fuck _up,_ Miss Sato, or else everyone suffers.”

“Everyone meaning soon-to-be hired benders?  And the non-benders lucky enough to remain employed?  I’m sor-”  You catch yourself, realizing your only mistake would be to apologize.  “What do you suppose I do with this board, then?  If we are looking for _efficiency,_ it seems some changes need to be made here, as well.”  You turn, the rest of the board seeming to cower.  

“Tarza, you may be gifted with firebending.  But what about, let's say, Kunquo here?  A loyal, steadfast, contract advisor.  A man I trust, a partner behind some of our biggest local business relationships.  In many ways, he is responsible for _your_ salary and livelihood.  But he is not an earthbender or a waterbender - he cannot move stone or ride currents to reach our various collaborators.  We provide him with an airship or a Satomobile, fully crewed and staffed, for his transportation.  Because a bender could accomplish all this without requiring the same company time and resources, according to your logic, I should have fired Kunquo years ago.”

“Oh don't be _ludicrous_ , Asami.  That's -”

“Did you ever address the previous president by anything other than 'President Sato' during our board meetings?”  Kunquo interrupts.  A quiet man with a large, commanding stature, Kunquo has a way about him that demands respect - silently observant, and verbalizing only what he deems necessary.  Sincerely, you are surprised to hear him speak up at all, much less on your behalf.

“What?!  That is hardly a matter of importance, Future Industries is crumbling as we spe-”

“The answer is, ‘No’.  No, you did not.”  Kunquo scolds.

Tarza huffs indignantly.  “Well, Mr. Sato was never so _irrational_ as to-”

 

_“Tarza.”_

_“Tarza.”_

 

You and Kunquo bark the command simultaneously, forcing him into silence.

He resumes his seat, lips pursed around his tongue, barely restraining it.  But the point does not need to be verbalized.

Hiroshi Sato, his business partner extraordinaire, fellow engineering prodigy, and lifelong friend, was a ruthless leader of Equalists, that wanted him either incapacitated or  _dead_.

 

And there is nothing rational about that.

 

“No one is to be removed from the Executive Board.  No one is laid off from the assembly line.  Everyone will receive equal pay for equal time and effort.  That is non-negotiable.”

Tarza sits up stiffly, eyes ignited, anger and resentment brimming along the edge of his irises.  It is hard to believe this main raised Kuzir - the gentle, naive firebender that first showed you what it is like to hold a flame in your very own palm.

_Control your element._

It is even harder to believe that you have learned to harness that blaze, and throw flames right back at his own firebending father.

 

The board progresses to other budgetary complications and corporate overhaul issues - what to do with the resulting Equalist technology, warehouse spaces, and blueprints.  How to abolish the “terrorist” title so closely associated with Future Industries.  What skills you need to develop and hone as a nineteen-year-old, female business owner, trying desperately to both fill and empty the shoes of Hiroshi Sato.

The previous conversation is laid to rest, for now, and hopefully for good.

 

 

The victory is small, but you _feel_ it - these days, you take what you can get.

 

* * *

 

The night finds you toiling over schematics for a new biplane wing as the factory progresses into the latest hours of the evening.  You lift your head to view the time clock - you don’t expect to see anyone else punched in, but to your surprise, a few dutiful cards sit obediently in their slots.

You recognize one, dusted and color fading, to be your father's.  He clocked in everyday - one of his many standing practices, a testament to his faux virtues of transparency.   His operation was outed while on the clock, and no one has mustered the courage to finally punch him out.  You fear some are holding on to the false notion that _their_ Mr. Sato - a loving and admirable business leader - remains in the walls and infrastructure of the factory, watching with kind eyes and a just mind.

But you know better.  You know he left, not when he aided the Equalist movement.  Not when he landed behind the gears of a mecha tank in order to (nearly) kill you.  

 

He vanished the day you were fourteen, leaving you in the welding shop with blowtorch burn scars and guilty eyes, telling you that he loved you more than anything.  You know in that moment – he left, and he never came back.

 

A wave of exhausted loneliness overwhelms you, your fists landing on the drafting table weakly.

"Why do you stay?" you prompt the empty factory, voice reverberating against the concrete walls. _You don’t deserve this.  None of you deserve this._  "Why are any of you here?"

"Because we trust you, Miss Sato."  

 

You jump in surprise as a gravely voice emerges from the darkness of the factory.  A small woman with deep wrinkles and soft features stands in front of you, hands gripping a mop.  You remember her name - Jinji, but she has always insisted that you call her Granny Jin, ever since you were small.  She has dedicated two decades to Future Industries, accepting graveyard janitorial shifts, allowing her to tend to her grandchildren and garden during the day.  Her hands wring the mop handle gently.

"We trust you with our our futures.”

 

In the wake of your mother’s death, you became far too perceptive, far too early - always sure to remember birthdays and children, funerals and anniversaries.  Focusing on the days most important to your father's staff proved an adequate distraction from all that you were trying to forget.  And so, the employees entrusted you with their stories and priorities, knowing that you would make sure to celebrate their child’s tenth birthday, or make the anniversary of their husband’s passing easier.

So you know that Jinji is earnest, in her suggestion that the employees trust you to have their best interests in mind.  In stressing that this trust you have established, intentionally or not, is not something easily dismissed or deconstructed, foundations built deep into the sediment of the company.  That their faith in you is unwavering.

“You have taken care of us for so long.  We know you won't let us down, Miss Sato.  So we aren't going to let you down, either."

But you know, even if you _are_ trusted by the people that, in all practicality, shouldn’t, that the people that need to trust you in order to keep the company afloat - business leaders, executives, city officials - still don’t.  And they likely never will.

 

Your hands shake beneath the table, out-of-sight, but you somehow manage to offer a grateful glance, smiling with only your teeth.  Jinji leaves the factory with a small, sympathetic squeeze to your shoulder.  She locks the door on the way out, allowing you to breakdown over your drafting table in privacy.

 

* * *

 

You have learned many things in your short time as an heir of a business.  But tonight, you discover that warehouse walls echo, and so it is best to keep your thoughts to yourself.

 

* * *

 

“You have six entire weeks to prepare, Asami.  It's going to be great, you have to come!”  Bolin pleads enthusiastically, throwing his hands in the air, unintentionally yet unabashedly drawing attention from all across the restaurant.

You don’t mind in the least - you consider yourself lucky that anyone would make a fuss about where you are.  Consider yourself lucky that he loves you.

“I am just really busy.  With the shop, and the company, and, you know.”   _Figuring out how to be feared and fearful; influential and weak; surveilled and alone; young and so very old._

“It’s not a Team Avatar adventure unless you are there, Asami,” Korra says genuinely, your forearm trapped between her fingers.  Her grasp is warm and strong.  Something you feel like you could hang on to.

But you have already learned - that is not a feeling you _should_ get used to.  

 

As though on cue, Mako enters the restaurant, a form-fitting police force uniform complementing his naturally dashing appearance.  He sees your arm, dark hands clasped around it.

“Did I miss a pillow fight or something?”

“Shut up,” Korra says, rolling her eyes, but you notice how her hands abandon your skin, calloused fingers leaving a blazing trail across the back of your hand as she seeks the hem of his uniform.

“Just...don’t say no yet, okay?”  Bolin presses into your shoulder, murmuring the request.  “You heard it yourself - the _Avatar_ needs you.  It is practically your duty to join us.”

Your throat runs a little dry at the suggestion, as you watch Mako catch a piece of Korra’s hair, twirling it casually between his fingers, lighting her with a smile bright enough to fill all of Republic City.  You think Bolin feels you tense, so you lean away.

He looks to you eagerly, clearly awaiting a response.  You don’t have to contemplate it at all - you already know what your answer is, what your answer should be ( _no no no_ ) - but you appease him anyway, because you love him, too.

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

Bolin smiles, though noticeably dimmer than usual.  You think he must know that, given the circumstances, this is the best you can do (and perhaps, when he grabs your wrist beneath the table and rubs your pulse point soothingly as you try to slow the thrum in your chest, he knows more than he lets on).

 

* * *

 

“President Sato?”

You look up from your work bench wearily, surprised to see Board Member Kunquo standing before you.

“Ah, good morning Kunquo.  You aren’t coming to me with more bad news, I hope?”

“No, Miss, I...I came here to thank you.”

 

You are confused, but don’t allow that to register across your features.  “I feel as though I am the one owing you gratitude, Kunquo.  For speaking up at the board meeting.  I know that wasn't necessary.”

 

“Actually, it was.  As you know, my wife and my son are both employees on your assembly line.  Both non-benders.”  Now the pieces start to fit together.  “I understand from an economic perspective, that you easily could have concurred with Tarza in our board meeting.  But I wanted to thank you, for protecting my family.  For being the same Miss Sato I remember from your childhood."

You find this a little tough to swallow, seeing as you feel like you have changed, so much.  Like  _everything_ has changed, right before your very eyes.  As though every garden has turned to ash, and you are making your way through a monotone reality, feet kicking up remnants and debris with every strained step.

“We are incredibly lucky and honored to have you as our president.  And, as long as you are at the reins, I will do anything I can to serve Future Industries.”

He places his hand over his heart, before announcing, “I have a market lead.  Something that may alter the trajectory of the company.  It is an important decision, something I propose we discuss at upcoming board meetings.  It would require that you travel to the Southern Water Tribe.”

(You remind yourself to inform Bolin - in private, anticipating his elation in learning that you actually _will_ be joining Team Avatar on their venture south.)

“But this would expand our market into the global sphere unlike any other contract could.  It could be the business decision that changes everything.”

 

You are so touched, the entire message rendering you almost speechless.  You manage to say, “Thank you for your kind words, and for this opportunity, Kunquo.  I am sure the board will agree - we trust your judgement.  I trust you.”

He grunts in acknowledgment.  “But I don’t know that we should trust _him_.”

You raise a brow and inquire, “Who is the potential business partner?”

He takes a deep breath before saying:

 

“Varrick.”

 

* * *

 

"No company will work with us."

 

As the operations lead for the biplane rollout, this is Hinku's gentlest and gravest relay to date, a reminder of the unwillingness of corporate partners to deal in business that has anything to do with _you_ , the daughter of an infamous Equalist leader.

 

Most days, you find it difficult to relate to Equalists and their extremism - while you are not opposed to violence as a tool of resistance, and as a means to achieve justice, you are above ruthless persecution and discriminatory torture, regardless of what the papers and tabloids would suggest.  

 

However, suffering - now that remains a concept that you understand.  And while you find their methods estranged, you _do_ know what it is like to be anxious, constantly worried about what you could lose, fretting over what you no longer have.  To feel uncomfortable in your own seat, whether it be on a bus, in a board room, or around the dinner table (though you were always fixated on how few mouths there were to feed at each meal, as opposed to worrying over having enough resources and stability to adequately feed a family).

You also are and always will be a non-bender, using technology developed by revolutionaries and terrorists in order to level the playing field.  In many regards, the ideologies behind the Equalist movement are far more applicable to you than acting as owner of Future Industries, leading a research and development team, heading press releases, or even participating as the only non-bending member in the most elite bending alliance in the world - Team Avatar.

 

Frighteningly, being an Equalist makes incredible sense.  More sense than anything you actually _are_.  So much so that it scares you, sometimes, when you look in your reflection and find your father staring back in your brow and underused laugh lines.

If they see what you see, then you can understand how your face alone, mask or not, could justifiably make people and investors wary.

(Your unrelenting support and constant application of political and fiscal pressures to improve conditions for non-benders is not earning you any favors among your potential business partners, either.)

 

"We’re nearly bankrupt."  Hinku reminds you firmly, but not unkindly.

“Don’t worry.”  You say these words a lot. You can hardly tell if they are for you, your company, or your audience, though you say it often when you have no company or audience to address - when you are standing in the mirror, shakily applying eyeshadow, bracing yourself for newspaper headlines and office deadlines, awaiting your father’s face to flash before your eyes, embedded blood-deep in your own reflection.  “I am going to the South to meet with someone that can put Future Industries back on top.” 

You clap his shoulder reassuringly, but you can see in his eyes.

 

_Don't worry.  (Control your element.)   Don't worry.  (Control your destruction.)  Don't worry.  (Control.  Control.  Control.)_

 

He believes, much like you do, that fate has played a rather cruel game, and won.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just...had way too much to put into book two. so here is a made up book.
> 
> as always, for those of you that stuck around (I'm really bad at this 'posting and updating' game), thank you so much for reading. <3


	4. Book 2: Spirits, Part I

You know that you did not make a mistake, yet nothing can quell the doubt clotting your veins, blood freezing with each heartbeat as though the truth will rumble out of each proceeding pulse.

You can’t help but wonder why you’ve been brought along; it’s not like Team Avatar would even have come to exist without your flawed family story, tarnished with burns and betrayal - without the very person that tethered you to this earth for nineteen years.

A pity invite, you imagine.  An extension of faux inclusion, to help lessen the blow for outing your father.  For witnessing him attempt to murder you.  For the destruction he wrought upon your last name and life’s work.

For losing Mako to Korra in the midst of all that, and no one having the gall to say anything about it.

 

You may know that you did not make a mistake.  But the world seems insistent on flipping upside down and rotating in reverse in an attempt to convince you otherwise.

 

 

> _“Welcome to the South.”_

 

 

* * *

 

The future of the company - of Kunquo’s family, Jinji’s garden, and your own sanity - hinges on the outcome of this very meeting with Varrick.  Consequently, you have been dreading this ever since you received counsel on the matter, and agreed to pursue such an opportunity.

But you also remember making a promise to show Bolin that you truly cherish him, and to prove that he can depend on you as much as you rely on him.  He deserves to know that you trust him to be smart and honest and to help you get back on your feet, and he has every right to believe you will do the same for him.

 

And so, for this trajectory-determining business meeting, you hire Bolin on the spot, and of course, he manages to save the day.

After exchanging handshakes, your palms still covered in a nervous sweat, he asks:

“Is that how business usually works?”

 

 _Not for me lately, no,_  you could say, but you are too swept up in celebratory relief to answer so truthfully.  Instead, you ruffle his hair affectionately, looking upon him with immeasurable gratitude.  

 

Bolin has always been so vital to his brother’s sense of purpose, and to Korra’s success as the Avatar.   His role in saving the Republic and benders and non-benders, while widely unrecognized, is the reason that the city - it's buildings and it's virtues - remains standing.  If it weren’t for Bolin, your father would have succeeded in overthrowing Republic City.  In wiping out benders.  In taking his own daughter’s life.

Bolin has more than earned a coveted spot on Team Avatar.  

  
And, though he doesn’t have to, he keeps earning a spot on your team, too.

 

* * *

 

“Come with me to the Glacier Spirits Festival.”

“You know I can't.  But, thank you for everything today.  I couldn't have done it without you.”

Bolin sports a large, pleased smile and grasps your hand.  “That's exactly why we should go to the festival!  Asami, you've been working so hard, and I…” He stammers off before swallowing audibly, “It means a lot to me.  That you brought me along today.  Please, give me a chance to repay you.”

You tug back on his strong fingers, but still shake your head no.  “I have to call the company, and the executive board, at a reasonable hour.  With the time zone disparity, this is my only opportunity to get in touch with them and share the news, discuss contract terms.  Maybe in a couple of days, when all the details of this arrangement are hashed out.”

He looks disappointed, but doesn't drop your hand without one final squeeze.  “For what it's worth, I'm really proud of you.  And I hope that adjusting to time differences today, makes for different times tomorrow.  No one deserves a shift in the tides more than you.”

“Somebody’s been reading more of Korra’s airbending scrolls,” you tease before adding, “You're sweet, you know that?”

“You say these types of things, to the people you love.  I'll make sure to win you the biggest prize out there.”  He tosses you a casual wink as he opens the door to your cabin.  “Can we at least expect you for dinner?”

“No promises,” you joke, causing Bolin to narrow his eyes playfully before you finally nod an affirmative.

“Good.”  He turns to leave with, “And remember, Asami - I do love you.  Which means I'm worried about you. We all are.  Just let us be.”

 

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

 

* * *

 

Seeing the South draped in this fashion is truly magical - you wonder why you haven’t made a trip during such a festival before.  But you promptly remind yourself that, even now, you are only here to amend your wrongs - to fix the company and the city you have incapacitated.

 

It’s no surprise for you to find Korra looking completely at home here, with snowflakes peppering her hair and cheeks.  She never even bothers to wear a hood.  Her skin practically glows in a stark, stunning contrast to the ivory landscape, as she rakes her dark hands through her hair thoughtlessly while framed by festival lights.

 

The Avatar seems to get braver by the day, the more you learn about her.  As you realize how much she has accomplished, and what she has chosen to sacrifice in order to do as such.

She’s working under such incredible pressures and expectations while giving up her home and her tribe.  One look at Team Avatar, and there is no denying the glaring differences - in complexion, in culture, in duties.  You and the bending brothers have vested your entire lives in the streets and skyscrapers of Republic City.  Meanwhile, Korra has abandoned everything she knows to fulfill her role as Avatar, and you all have been saved at least once by her decision to do just that, without a hint of complaint.

What must it be like, you wonder, to operate as the Avatar, possessing the conscience and fortitude to fight for all.  Here you are, finding it extremely difficult to repay your debts to just one city, while Korra owes no one, but willingly serves everyone.  Saves everyone.

(She would probably even save you now, too.  If she knew how, and if you would just let her.)

 

So when Mako begins a tirade, venting on about how impossible it is to be her boyfriend, you spare him no sympathy.

 

“I mean, how am I supposed to take care of her if she doesn’t tell me what she wants?!”

“She needs a confidant, Mako, not a _caretaker_.”  He pauses abruptly, both of you equally surprised at your chastising tone.  You look to Bolin briefly, his eyes meeting Mako’s with a firm nod in understanding.  The message goes unsaid - it isn’t Mako’s job to tend to everyone the way he watches out for Bolin, especially not when it comes to the Avatar.  Not when he is in love with Korra.

“Korra has more power than all of us - her decisions aren’t simply choices, she isn’t graced with the luxury of looking back to see if she was right or wrong.  Instead, her decisions are just how things _are_ , and how things will be.  I am sure she wishes she could mull it over, weigh all the consequences of each of her actions, worry over being blamed or repenting or being held accountable for everything resulting from what she chooses to do, but the truth is that she doesn’t have the time for that.  All she has are her choices, right here, right now.”

Mako crosses his arms, clearly unhappy with being lectured.  “Apparently you know just what to say, Asami,” he gruffs out frustratedly.

“Mako, her _father_ and Tenzin have lied to her for years - her entire childhood!”  Bolin argues, almost desperately.

You continue with, “She has yet another important decision to make, and her relationship with her father and Tenzin are on the line.  And you need to know how to support her through that.”   _Or else her relationship with you will be in jeopardy, too._

Mako pinches his nose before blurting angrily, “Well, _sorry_ if I’m not exactly an expert in understanding what it is like to be betrayed by a father.”

 

The scene goes silent, and all you can hear are falling snowflakes, floating to their final resting place.

_Control your...control your…._

 

“Whoa, bro!  Too fucking far.”  Bolin recovers the swiftest, wedging himself between you and Mako with a rare, scornful look that doesn’t even seem to fit his face.  “Asami is just trying to help, though you _clearly_ don’t even deserve that right now.  If you want my advice...Go find somewhere to cool off.  And leave both of them alone for a while.”

Mako acquiesces all too quickly, footsteps crunching further and further in the distance.  Bolin turns to you and whispers an apology, but you’ve already begun to march away, too, flame sputtering out with each sinking step into the snow.

 

* * *

 

The Avatar’s parents and Katara prove to be the warmest people you have ever met, right here in the middle of this unforgiving tundra.

This was clear when Korra lost her bending to Amon, but is made especially evident as hostile spirits rain from the sky - Tonraq anything but hesitant when he throws his body into the brawl to protect Korra.

You aren't there, of course - you have plenty of business matters to attend to, none of which involve trying to fend against a dark spirit - but Bolin fills you in.  He reiterates how father and daughter were flung about like oil rags, his retelling inadvertently filling your head with visions of Hiroshi trying to finish you off.

 

A chill ripples through your spine as he wraps up his tale, his eyes upon you with concern.

“Is Korra okay?  Tonraq?”  You attempt to deflect.

He nods before prompting, “Are you?”

You wave him off, thankful to be surrounded by such white snow - it allows you to lie effortlessly.

 

“I’m just not used to the cold.”

 

* * *

 

You slide your reading glasses down the bridge of your nose, rubbing your eyes burdened with fatigue.  You do not typically need spectacles to read, but now, without your father around to parse out some of the more complex business proposals with swift and ripened expertise, such long hours of reading necessitate their use to stave off the inevitable, exhaustive strain.   Still, you never sign anything you have not read thoroughly, freshly minted Varrick Global Industries, company-saving contract or not.

The candle on your desk flickers slightly, illuminating your handwritten notes from the trip so far - mostly reminders of what you want to research after you return home, once your company is stable, and you can retreat back into your forest of spines.

 

  * _Distressed Spirits - impact trade routes?_


  * _Spirit-bending - discussed in waterbending manuals, reference sections?_


  * _Spirit World - parallel dimension - possible to travel to?_


  * _Spirit Portals -_ ~~ _how to open, who is capable?_~~ _Avatar Korra_



 

Like everyone else in the South, you witnessed the array of colors wash over the sky, a grand announcement of Korra’s success.  You take a brief moment to peer outside, purples and greens shining through your window in beautiful fragmented prisms.

 

Until they aren’t.

Until the world goes dark, the only light remaining being your dying candle.  You grab it possessively, holding it out in front of you to see what little you can.  Then, the shaking starts.  Large, loud thuds that move your walls and your furniture - caused by something so big and powerful that the infrastructure of your cabin is in question.  You beg to anyone and no one that it isn’t a spirit, roving and raging for solace.  You notice your own trembling, the candle wobbling so much that hot wax begins to pour across your fingers.

You are desperate, now - desperate to understand.  Desperate for this all to stop.  Desperate to know what could possibly bring even more darkness into your nights.  

 

And then, your answer.  A mecha tank hand breaks your bedroom window, the metal claw reaching for its target.  For you.  It withdraws, only to pummel through the side wall, leaving you completely exposed.  You now have a full view of the Equalist machine and, once you visualize what is caught in the other claw, you drop your candle with a gasp.

Dangling limp and lifeless, clamped between mecha tank fingers, is the Avatar.  You aren’t sure what to do next, but unfortunately, the mecha tank decides for you.  Your insides crush together as the mecha tank hand descends upon you, grabbing you by your waist.  It lifts you in the air, leaving you sputtering for breath.

You know it’s impossible - he is locked away in Republic City.  Noatak easily could have convinced any other non-benders around the world, and across the South, to fight for his cause.  But you yell your father’s curses anyway.

 

“Hiroshi, you monster!”  You gasp out, vision beginning to fade with hypoxia.  “So you came back to finish the job?”

 

The mecha tank lifts you to the pilot glass, offering you a quick glimpse of the Avatar.  Her clothes are tattered and bloodied, eyes dark, blackness filling in the orbits.  You can’t bear to look any longer, shifting your attention to the windshield, your fists smashing the glass weakly.  “Show yourself, dammit, you coward!”

The cockpit releases a hydraulic groan as the windshield rises away from the mecha tank frame.  You aren’t sure what you are going to do, but he owes you this - to at least look you in the eye as he smothers you to death.

But when the cockpit is finally ajar, your breath catches in your throat, and you are certain you would have screamed, had you the energy.

 

Staring back at you, sitting in the mecha tank control seat, is _you_.  

You, donning Team Avatar attire, gloved hands resting atop sliding gears, a detached smile smeared across your face before asking:

_“Who is the monster now?”_

 

_Control your element.  Control your destruction._

 

Your eyelids fly open to a freezing desk, covered in contractual agreements.  The candle continues to burn meekly, reading glasses discarded beside it.  Your hands grasp at your sides and face - no mecha tank claw grips or malicious smile to be found.

The only thing left to confirm is that you didn’t in fact murder the Avatar.  You run your fingers through your own hair anxiously as you realize how ridiculous such a notion is, but you know you’d give anything for the right to check, anyway.  To find a steady chest rise and fall, and eyes that will never reflect the lifeless, shadowed wells you just witnessed - that you just created.

Instead, you look upon the new and old Southern Lights, convincing yourself that you can’t truly conceive just how strong Avatar Korra is, while you fear _everyone_ must know how incredibly weak you are.

 

The candle finally snuffs out, and you can see your heaving breaths fill the small cabin space.  A cold loneliness settles in your bones then, scared to think that you aren't sure of how to find someplace warmer, without leaving your body and its reminders behind all together.

 

* * *

 

Varrick is late in meeting with you to close your deal, but apparently, you aren't the only one he stood up.

 

“We search for Varrick.  Our father wishes him to stand trial,” Desna reports.

You inquire, already wary of Varrick’s intentions.  “What did he do?”

“He is a traitor to the Water Tribe, along with our aunt and uncle.”

_Tonraq and Senna...they are…_

 “Korra’s parents were arrested?”  Mako verbalizes, and you suddenly wish you knew where the Avatar was, to verify that, in spite of the charges against her parents, she is out of harm’s way.  She did the same for you, afterall.

 

A Northern soldier announces what you already realized - that Varrick is conventionally absent.  Eska commands her warriors to move on, making sure to ridicule Bolin once or twice before her departure.

“Don’t let her treat you that way, stand up for yourself.”   _The way you stand up for me._

“I _tried_ to break up with her, but Mako gave me terrible advice.”

 You wince at the thought of relying on Mako, a firebender by definition, to conceive of an appropriate way to conclude a relationship - having been on the other end of such schematics, you know that it would never work out well, especially for Bolin.  So you offer what you know to work best, even though it may contradict your own actions as of late.

“Bolin, you need to be honest with her,  Tell her how you really feel.”

“ _Honesty is for fools, kid!”_ A hidden, muffled voice cries out - one that you later identify as Varrick’s (transforming the warning into words you should heed more thoughtfully, in light of Kunquo’s admitted hesitation).

Mako finally responds appropriately (“I’m going to go see how Korra’s doing”), albeit several minutes after you initially wished to react similarly, which gives you some pause.  In Mako's absence, Varrick proceeds to explain how the trial has been rigged by Unalaq, and devises a bribe to rescue his “trusty rebels.”  You are concerned by his tactics, and the alarming wave of déjà vu as you hear this man speak of how his revolution needs to remain stable and fighting - but what is one supposed to do about red flags when you are already drowning in a sea stained crimson?

 

_Control your destruction._

 

You decide to grab the poles with all your strength, hoping their sharpened ends are pointed away from you, at least for now.

 

* * *

 

The bribery plan goes awry, Bolin proving too honest and good to understand how such manipulation works.  (You question whether it is auspicious to have understood Varrick’s plot, or if you should be concerned that you did so without a second thought - if stronger traces of your father remain in your consciousness than you realize.)

_Who is the monster now?_

 

You listen intently to Korra’s account of the events. silently wondering how much responsibility one woman is expected to bear.  What pain she must be enduring, setting not one, but both of her parents up for imminent failure.  How unjust, that Korra not know the cards are stacked against her, both above and below the table.

A death sentence reverberates through the courtroom, and you can’t help but stand and exclaim your dissent beside Bolin.  Your own father couldn’t say enough prayer to rinse his hands of his treachery, and yet his life has been spared.  How can mere conspiracy and affiliation lead to this extreme?   To execution?

Unalaq requests a reduced punishment, and the judge grants it - all a facade, of course.  But the Avatar doesn’t know this, and neither do Tonraq or Senna.

You remember what it is like to testify against your own blood, determining their fate for the rest of their eternity.  As you run over your truth and its impact, imagining familiar faces behind unfamiliar bars. It’s a torment you can’t silence - a high-pitched kettle that never stops ringing, water always threatening to boil over.

_Control your destruction._

 

You want so desperately to relieve Korra of the pain and guilt.  Allow her to operate with focused fury to secure true justice, and to end this newly christened civil war before one drop of blood is shed.

But the trial is over, her heart is broken, and she dashes away before you can say the word ‘Avatar.’

 

* * *

 

“Unalaq is a liar and a traitor!”

 

The next time you see Korra, you remember that she doesn’t need you to provide reconnaissance.  She’s perfectly capable of obtaining it on her own, and even reaps a more thorough account of her father’s exile and Unalaq’s plan to become chief.

“I’m busting my father and the rebels out of jail.  I need your help.”

You aren't sure what you can do, but one look into Korra’s pained, livid gaze reminds you that you are willing to do anything to right at least one wrong today.

 

* * *

 

‘Anything’ translates to publicly donning your shock glove for the first time since the Equalist revolution.  You don’t make a show or fuss of it, and neither Mako nor the Avatar ask about how or why you wear it so comfortably after months of disuse, for which you are grateful.

It’s almost instinctual, once Mako drags the prison guard through the floor grate, your gloved palm meeting his shoulder until his body turns limp.  

As you charge down the glove, you manage to fight back a sinister smile.  

 

_Control your element._

 

Just barely.

 

* * *

 

The breakout rapidly transforms into an elaborate escape plan and pursuit, following Korra’s father and the Southern Water Tribe rebels trapped on a ship headed to the North.

You scramble aboard Varrick’s vessel, trying to determine how to bypass the Unalaq’s fleet.

“If only we had a plane to get me close to those ships.  I could waterbend them out of the way.”

You see the fatigue register on her face, and can recognize the size and strength of the Northern Water Tribe armada, but know better than to doubt the Avatar’s abilities and determination.  Instead, you begin to think of how you can get her in the air.

(You lock the thought away for later - developing a tool for flight for airbenders, independent of technology.  Something befitting of Air Nation culture, but as useful as a biplane wing.)

Varrick bellows something, and a biplane seemingly apparates from a sub-deck hangar. You try not to release your relief in a gasp when the vehicle is revealed to be strictly personal.  Moderately well-designed, you admit, though surely manufactured without the intent to devastate.  Clearly not armed - with bombs, and turrets, and ammunition, and soldiers in the cockpit.  You appreciate the weak sense of security it provides, knowing that the United Forces will need months, if not years, to develop and test run military engines based on your surrendered blueprints.  That it will then take more months, to train infantry to become pilots.  That, maybe, seeing Hiroshi's explosives rain from the sky for a second or hundredth time, is a terror that is conveniently delayed by tedious logistics and human limitation. **  
**

_Control your destruction._

 

You transition to the next phase of the improvised plan, offering yourself as pilot.  “But there’s no runway, how are we supposed to takeoff?”

The Avatar looks to you with unspoken gratitude, noticing that you already have your pilot goggles in hand, before declaring, “I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

If you had ever been told that one day, you would fly a plane with no runway - that instead, you would be propelled by two of the world’s greatest firebenders standing on the wings in a marvelous demonstration of power - you never would have believed such a premonition.  If you had been informed that you would then witness perhaps the most forceful exhibition of waterbending you’ve ever seen - Korra calling upon the ocean to rattle and divide an entire fleet in half - you would have begged for a title, so as to quench your thirst for adventure embedded in the pages detailing such a vivid imagination.

But here you are, witnessing Korra split the sea itself, as she beckons, “There!  My dad’s on that ship!”

 

You respond immediately, steering the biplane towards the vessel traveling rapidly into Northern territory.  You respond even faster when she yells out the command to jump.  Landing in the open water, the ice cold waves greet you harshly as you catch the final stages of the biplane’s explosion.   _A diversion_.

Your muscles lock upon contact, the sub-zero temperatures preventing all functionality.  But she says jump, so of course, you do (there are consequences to such a thing, you _knew_ there would be).  The cold seems to be getting more tolerable in a concerning way, your lungs ready to release the last of your precious oxygen.

 

Next, you sense something grip your forearm - you turn to find the Avatar, pulling you close to her submerged body.  Mako is nearby, too, treading calmly beneath the waves.

“It’s okay.  I’ve got you.”  The Avatar issues reassuringly.  You have to close your eyes for the first breath - you’ve done this once before, when Team Avatar was escorted through Yue Bay to the safety of the Republic City sewers, but your eyes won’t seem to let your body believe in Korra’s clever trick a second time.  Eventually you adjust, and slowly take in your surroundings, Korra’s grasp still firm.

“I know this probably isn’t exactly how you wanted today to go, considering your contract with Varrick and all, but thank you.  For flying the plane, for trusting me.  I wouldn’t have found my father’s ship without you.”  Her voice hardens, and you notice the dark bags beneath her eyes as she turns to engage Mako.  “I’m going to waterbend us onto the deck in three seconds.  Brace yourselves.”

 

You do exactly what you’ve trained yourself _not_ to do - you grab a hold of her arm like a lifeline, and wait for the waves to crash reality back into you.

 

* * *

 

Korra rescues her father, urgency flooding her to clear his name and his conscience.  

_“I love you, dad.”_

Korra insists on fighting alongside his rebellion, and agrees to recruit help from Republic City.  

_“I love you, too.”_

Korra hugs him so hard, that it seems more like a goodbye than a reunion.

 

The entire interaction is rather triggering in a way you can’t quite process - in that you are so happy for Korra, so sad for Korra, and so mad for how unfairly things have played out, all at once.  For how her return home has resulted in an all out war within her own tribe, and within her bloodline.

Your body aches both in understanding and in your inability to relate - your stories are so similar, and yet your outcomes devastatingly different.

The pain breaks through the surface.  Mako notices, his gears turning as he finally comprehends what is happening - at last tuning in to the frequency your radio static has been stuck on for months.  

Still, he opts for silence and inaction, substituted with only a knowing gaze.  Sometimes, in his weird, detached way, Mako knows exactly what you need - time to notice each trail of lighter fluid, and the space to compartmentalize them.  

 

_Control your element._

  
  
Afterall, he knows better than anyone else; apply enough pressure, and all things are considered flammable.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book 2 is in three parts. Because: gaping plot holes and Asami basically doesn't exist.
> 
> These two gracious folk are to thank for being on the front lines with this - seriously, they are the reason there isn't a "seize" on Yue Bay, and why a certain board member calls Asami "ludicrous" instead of a famous, terrible rapper from the 90's...they are doing god's work. Thank you both from the bottom of my KA trashed heart.
> 
> [SarahDemo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahDemo/pseuds/SarahDemo)  
> [havuhadanosejob](http://archiveofourown.org/users/havuhadanosejob/pseuds/havuhadanosejob)  
>  
> 
> As usual, sorry for the delay. And as always, thank you so much for reading. <3


	5. Book 2: Spirits, Part II

The voyage back to Republic City is fairly uneventful.  The same cannot be said for the docking.

 

“Welcome home, Avatar.  Thanks for starting a war.”

 

Korra is clearly drained, as she manages to appear both defensive and guilty.  She turns to Mako for comfort and encouragement, but is met only by his silent support for the Chief.

“Mako, I want you back on the beat.  There’s going to be a Southern Water Tribe peace march tonight.  I need you there to make sure things don’t get out of hand.”

“I’m all yours.”  Your brow furrows at his choice of words.  How can he be so detached, offering himself back to the force at a time like this, after  witnessing the start of a Civil War?  After watching Tonraq almost get killed?  After telling the Avatar that he loves her?

Speaking of.  “I’ll go too.  The people of the South need to see that the Avatar is on their side in the fight against the Northern invaders.”

Lin expresses disapproval, which Mako unsurprisingly reinforces.  

“Maybe you should sit this one out.”  

You bristle at his tone, at how entirely comfortable he is with issuing commands to his partner - you are even more unsettled that he directs such sentiment at the Avatar, and most of all towards Korra.

“I just think having you there blatantly supporting one side will only make things worse.  You could at least _try_ to seem neutral.”

 

His callousness causes your hands to fist at your sides, but you’ve learned well enough - this is not a controlled fire, the interactions between Avatar Korra and Officer Mako.  Rather, they are small instances of dazzling combustion, each one threatening to set the entire forest, dying and not, ablaze.

“I'm not neutral,” Korra retorts.  “The North invaded my _home._ The only reason I'm here is to get the Republic to send troops to help the South.”

Mako must feel the undercurrent in her message - the idea that he can run to be a member of Team Avatar at a moment’s notice, but the Avatar will always have matters and business and worlds bigger to contend with.  Larger than Republic City.  Greater than standing next to a rookie officer on the beat.  You see the hopelessness sink in, if only for a moment, before he spits out, “ _Whatever_.  I gotta go to work.”

 

Sparks sounding off in your ears, you leave and check in at the assembly lines.  You hurry too - before you risk adding any fuel to this fire, or voicing anything you will inevitably regret.

 

* * *

 

Conducting an entire warehouse inventory takes you well into the evening.  In the fight to remain one step ahead of Varrick and his ominous scheming, you resort to numbers - they have always been one of your strengths and, at this point, you need all the firepower you can get.

 

A radio reports out softly in the background, waves transmitting the coverage of the peace march.

 

> “ _Tensions are running high outside the Southern Water Tribe Cultural Center.”_

 

“We heard the incredible news, Miss Sato!”  Jinji’s at the west entrance of the factory, brushing her hands off on her utility pants, indicating the end of her shift.   _Is it that late already?_

“We knew you could do it.  Knew you _would_ do it.”  She continues excitedly.

Unable to bear disappointing her yet again, you respond as gently and honestly as possible.

“It's not all set in stone just yet, but do expect a staff appreciation day, once everything is finalized.  You all deserve more than that, but I’ll start there.  As always, please bring the family, it’s been far too long, anyway.”

She grins warmly.  “I’d prefer a President Sato recognition day, but...I’m sure the grandchildren will be thrilled.  They have missed you.”  She pauses for a moment, before, “We all have.  We are glad to have you back, Miss Sato.”

“I’m glad to _be_ back.”

 

> _"The Avatar is leading a group of Southerners in a peaceful protest against Chief Unalaq.”_

 

You smile, thinking - _good for her_.  But really, it’s good for everyone else, too.

“You know,” Jinji starts, “my grandson - you must remember Salokk? - his mother is Southern.  He's there tonight with his husband, who, as you might recall, immigrated here from the Northern Tribe.  Neither of them can quite wrap their heads around the whole thing - how last month there was no war and now there is.  Just nonsense.”

“Innuk is Northern?  And marching?”

Jinji practically beams.  “Ah, so you _do_ remember.  Of course you do.”  She reaches to gently punch out her time card.  “And certainly - he may have friends on both sides, but the only side worth fighting for is the one that will bring peace.”

 

> _“But Northerners have come out in droves in support of their leader.”_

 

You realize, now more than ever, that being balanced isn’t all about neutrality.  Sometimes you have to strengthen one side or the other, to reach an equilibrium.

“But that’s enough drivel from an old coot like me.  These things have a way of working themselves out, especially with that new Avatar of ours.”  She looks to you fondly.  “She’s already a hero, you know.”

“That she is.”

“And so are you.”  She adds with finality.  “She is lucky to know you.  How can an Avatar fail with you on their team.”  

You move to respond (refute), but she waves you off, knowing you far too well.

“I must be going.  You take care, Miss Sa-”

 

Explosions, both afar and via the broadcast, cut her sentence short.  You sprint to the radio, cranking it up to full volume, but all you can hear is static and feedback, muffled screams filling the background.

Jinji’s stricken with horror, her old eyes already brimming with tears.  You grab her hand on the way to the factory phone, dialing for the police department, with no reply.

“I...I need to find my grandsons!” She croaks out.

“We will.”  

 

You escort her to your Satomobile, final inventory count forgotten.

 

* * *

 

Fire comes billowing from the front of the Southern Water Tribe cultural center, with doors melted away and windows blown out.  

The scene is chaos, carrying with it an eerie familiarity - haunting reminders of 100 Year War lessons in Water Tribe history books, your own ghosts inhabiting childhood estates and gardens - as victims are escorted away covered in bandages.

 

In the back of your mind you wonder why and how the Northern Water Tribe managed to pull off an explosion of this degree.  Why they wouldn’t instead use their natural waterbending abilities, or why they didn’t plan something less self-destructive (the fact that there are victims on both sides of the tribe doesn’t escape you).  More interesting yet is the fact that, during your entire stay in the South, even with Northern occupation, you never witnessed anything like this.  Regardless of how the explosion was constructed or detonated, the real question is, why didn’t you see them before tonight?

You want to run this all by Korra and Mako, whom you search for in desperation, Jinji’s hand trembling within your own.

You spot the Avatar first, plenty busy extinguishing flames as new ones surface through the building frame.  Her capabilities and heroics were exhausted in the South, exhausted by her boyfriend, and now exhausted by this divided city.  You secretly wonder if the bags beneath her eyes will ever truly vanish.

 

“Salokk!”  Jinji cries, relief and concern laced in the address.  He’s coughing, propping Innuk up beside him, but both appear to be in one piece,  Releasing your hand promptly, she moves to embrace them both.

“Please stay safe, Jinji!”

Tears in her eyes, she still manages to rush out, “You too, Miss Sato!”

You question if Jinji’s request is even possible.  Whether your very existence as a non-bending, Team Avatar member, and Sato heir isn’t enough smoke to indicate that wherever you go, fire will always follow.

 

_Control your element._

 

Your attention shifts back to the damage, Korra’s arms smoothly extinguishing every blaze emerging from the destruction.  And though you have so many things to tend to, a strange calm envelopes you as you watch her smother each flame that dares to rear its ugly, beautiful head.

 

* * *

 

“This isn’t even company protocol!”

“So now we need a pre-established policy in the event of a Civil War?!”

“Asa-- _President_ Sato,” the way Tarza spews the title, it’s as though you can see the malice drip from his gums, green and pooling on the board room table, threatening to corrode right through. “If you _insist_ on giving the day off to affected employees, why didn’t you at least limit such a rash response to those with Water Tribe ancestry?  Now _everyone_ suddenly has ties to the North and South - the assembly lines aren’t meeting even half of their typical production capacity!”

Thankfully, Lay-Yi takes the reins.

“Tarza, are you aware of the year?  I may have been an acolyte for most of my days, but even I know your views are outdated.”  

 

Initial conversations with Lay-Yi began during your stay on Air Temple Island, both of you deeply troubled by the Equalist revolution, but even more distressed by the state of the Republic.  She mentioned her knowledge of various trade routes - her job for the island is to update the maps, ensuring travel between the temples is not only documented, but possible without complication.

She mentioned in passing that, if there was ever anything she could do for Future Industries, you were to come and find her.  Now, with a global shipping contract looming on the horizon, you have called upon her expertise.

(“I’d be happy to sit on your board, no compensation necessary, Asami Sato.  You’ve done plenty for us already,” she said in response to the request, before shifting her eyes back and forth and muttering just beneath her breath, “though if you can hook me up with one of those Sato Hair Benders™, that would be fantastic.  Not all of us can air dry and style our hair in seconds.”)

 

She clicks her tongue before continuing, “You’re in Republic City, Tarza.  I mean, if a Fire Ferret can date the damn Avatar, you may very well wind up with a Water Tribe daughter-in-law, one of these days.”

He practically growls through gritted jaws, which she meets with a raised brow.  “Oh?  Water Tribe _son_ -in-law?  Apologies for my insensitivity, do forgive me.”

Finally set off, he explodes.  “Don’t think me  _stupid_ , President Sato.  Everyone knows - your affiliation with and relationship to Team Avatar stands in the way of this company.  Go on and show sympathy to the Water Tribes - it won’t matter _who_ is on the assembly line if there’s no assembly line left to man.”

 

A dark, historical tension manifests in Tarza’s speech and body language, paralleling  the interaction you witnessed between Korra and Mako.  There is a cultural divide within Team Avatar, and in Republic City.   If you have any strength or power left to your name, you won’t allow such intolerance to live within the walls of Future Industries - not a second time.

 

“Tarza, if memory serves me, it was you that said we have to make a conscious effort to shift away from the ‘terrorist’ affiliation.  Well,” you catch his glare and hold it firmly, “I believe this is an excellent start.  Future Industries is working it’s way back to the top, and we have far too much power to be bystanders, and too much influence to justify being neutral.  That being said, Kunquo, and anyone else here impacted by these events, I encourage you to go home, if you need. See to your family, figure out how you're going to respond to this Civil War.”

Tarza stands, voice steady.  “Go ahead. Cling to your delusions of nobility. But hear this.”  He stoops low enough to meet your eyes, elbow resting on the table.  “You’re making mistakes, President Sato.  And you won't be the only one to pay for them.”

 

“Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding!  Water Tribe ceremonies are my _absolute_ favorite!”  Lay-Yi hollers after him enthusiastically as he exits the board room, and even Kunquo struggles to maintain his composure, a low cough barely masking his amusement.

“One day on the job, and you’ve managed to singlehandedly plan a wedding and run off our economist.”  Your eyes remain on the table, but an undeniable grin creeps over your features.

Her index finger is suspended midair, mouth agape as though prepared to provide an explanation, but the hand quickly drops as she opts to blow a raspberry instead.  “My husband always says the only ones that should play with fire are the ones that can bend it away from their path.  But,” she gives a casual shrug, “what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.  Besides, Tarza needs to get with the program.”

“I agree,” you affirm as the discussion resumes.  “There must be a way to address the Civil War, meet the needs of Republic City, and facilitate growth for Future Industries.  They can’t be mutually exclusive objectives, or we will never succeed.”

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again - we are fortunate to operate under your leadership, and your wisdom well beyond your years.  I am confident that we are in good, capable hands,”  Kunquo announces firmly, before inquiring, “I appreciate the offer to tend to my family, but first, what can we do for you?  About the contract?  And Varrick?”

You release a heavy sigh, eyes narrowing with focus.

 

“Leave him to me.”

 

* * *

 

When Korra nearly barrels into you, you wonder what battle she is charging into next.  More importantly, you're curious what it would take to stop her momentum.

 

“Hey.” You address her, restacking your ruffled files neatly.  “In a hurry?”

“Sorry,” she says without reserve, erring on indifference.  But if you know the Avatar at all, she never apologizes without meaning to. “I have to talk to Varrick.”

“Yeah, me too,” you relay, taking the lead in the charge towards his boat.  You are so preoccupied with your pitch and fumbling through your documents that you don't have enough time to react to the arrow flying directly towards you.

Fortunately, there is Korra - Korra, with her family, her tribe, and the entire world on her mind, yet still she manages to keep you in her sights.  She pulls you from its trajectory just in time, arrow narrowly missing you and hitting a bullseye instead.

You hardly catch your breath before turning to find Varrick, bow in hand, flanked by Zhu Li and Bolin.  He nudges Bolin before boasting, “See?  I told you I could do it.”

You recoil at the flaunt - at how easily he can make _you_ a moving target, hunting you for sport, right beneath everyone’s nose.  Gripping your files, you let Korra start.

 

“We can’t wait for the President to act.  We need those troops now.”

“And my company is about to go under.  I have to find a way to make some sales.”

Varrick devises yet another plan contingent on telling the truth, but not the _whole_ truth - avoiding the President all together to obtain troop support from the United Forces, while sending the Equalist mecha tanks to aid the resistance in the South.

“That’s perfect.”  You meet the Avatar’s eyes, which are still lined with dark bags, but glistening with relief and hope.  “You’ll be making money for your company, _and_ you’ll be helping to defeat Unalaq.”

 

Helping _her_ defeat Unalaq, she means - you read between the lines to understand that the decision you make here and now doesn't carry the same weight as Korra’s.  That the fall of Future Industries only dictates your failure, but as long as Korra wins (which she will), the world will still continue to rotate round and round, whether you can keep up or not.

Varrick exclaims, “It’s true - if you can’t make money during a war, you just flat-out can’t make money!”

His face glows with a certain amusement as he confirms your suspicions that he is more of a profiteer than an investor, and an opportunist rather than a revolutionary.

It's never been more evident that no one else saw what you did - witnessed the Avatar hanging lifeless from your own mecha tank, eyes black as night, as Equalist technology ravaged the South.  As you drew first and last blood, all with a smile on your face.

 

_Who is the monster now?_

 

You decide, if ever there was a vision to heed, this would be it.  So you proceed as cautiously as you possibly can.

“It’s dangerous on the seas right now,” you suggest knowingly, hoping the indirect threat resonates with Varrick, “but I’m willing to try if you are.”

He seems to meet the challenge only too jovially.

 

_Control your destruction._

 

You aren't sure when you began to allow deceitful, war-mongering businessmen to make decisions for Future Industries again.  You also question if you will ever have the luxury not to.

 

* * *

 

“Is it true?”

 

This is the moment.  The instant in which you notice the bone-crushing hold on yourself and your reality begin to loosen, rationality and hope pried from your grasping, twitching fingers.

 

“I'm so sorry. Your entire shipment was stolen.”

A dizziness occupies the space where your head used to be, a new brand of nausea enveloping you as you grip a table for stability.

“What am I going to do?”

“Don't worry.”  Mako repeats your own mantra back to you, as you numbly tune in to the police interrogation of the ship captain.

Their voices swirl between your ears before Mako departs abruptly, leaving you feeling so agonizingly alone.  You release a feeble, “Where are you going?”  And you are surprised to find he pauses, gait uncharacteristically interrupted to offer you a sympathetic glance, before he leaves anyway.  He is replaced swiftly by Varrick himself, eyes peeled as Mako barges into the interrogation block.

 

“Chief, I think there is a link between this attack and the attack at the Cultural Center.”  

This catches your attention, eyes tracking Mako as he produces a handheld mechanism.  

“Did any of the people who attacked you have one of these in their hand?  I think it’s a remote detonator.”

You examine the object, already disassembling the apparatus in your head, unpacking designs and blueprints and wiring as Mako continues his proposal.

“Chief, I don’t think the people that attacked were Northern Water Tribe.”

“Of course they were Northern Water Tribe - they were waterbending!”

 

You don't have it completely figured out yet - how radio waves could transmit a signal to trigger an explosive -  but you are realizing it’s not impossible, so your feet carry you into the interrogation room with such purpose that Varrick is inclined to follow.

“Wait, I think Mako might be onto something.”

It seems you are too slow, though, and a Sato’s word doesn’t mean much these days - without clear evidence, Chief Beifong berates Mako for even trying, and bans him from the remainder of the interrogation.

But, just because the Chief of the Republic police force shuts him down doesn’t mean you will.

 

“What’s this idea of yours?”

“A sting operation. I was thinking we'd set up a bait ship, take it out into the open ocean, and capture whoever attacks it.”

You are so affected by Mako’s commitment to justice, for his commitment to _you_ , that the words tumble out before you have a chance to revise them, “We can make it work, just the two of us.”

His brows furrow at your suggestion, the unintended (it _was_ unintentional...right?) double-meaning registering across his face before he suggests, “We'd need a ship.”

 

“You need a ship?” Varrick’s voice creeps over your shoulders, startling you both, making you curious as to just how much he overheard.  “I want in on whatever you're talking about. I love being in on plans.”

You still have an air of sensibility about you - your desperation hasn’t dropped your guard so much as to allow Varrick to be privy to your strategy.  “The less you know, the better.”

“I _love_ not knowing things.” The profession rolls off his tongue like a taunt, but again - it seems you are still just too slow, too delayed when analyzing the subtext, in determining how much of a threat resides within the statement.  

 

And besides, what right does a Sato have, unveiling a wolfbat in sheep’s clothing?

 

* * *

 

“We need some extra manpower.”

“What about Korra?  No better muscle than the Avatar.”  It is a perfect opportunity - Korra can protect the cargo, and catch the perpetrators to ease tribal tensions in the Republic.  You find extending the invitation ideal, until:

“Right...Korra.  Yeah, actually, she’s - she’s out of town right now.”

 

You hadn’t predicted that recruiting help from the United Forces would take so long, especially for the Avatar.  Worry begins to set in - that is, until you think you’ve determined the root cause of her extended absence.

“Everything okay with you two?”

“Yeah...yeah.  Forget about Korra.”

 

Though he knows neither of you ever could, you are surprised to hear Mako verbalize this plea.  You never imagined you’d hear such a thing from a firebender - an earnest, desperate proposal to forget about his own flame.

 

* * *

 

“So, Mr. Law and Order needs our help, huh?”

Turns out forgetting about the Avatar means remembering a few other someones that are far less wholesome.

“What’s in it for the Triple Threats?”

“I am personal friends with the Avatar.  I might be able to convince her to give Shady Shin his bending back.”

Viper glares at Shin for acquiescing so easily, and you glare at Mako for having the audacity to offer Korra and her abilities up so brazenly.  For putting the entire Equalist recovery effort in jeopardy.

But you can’t really be mad.  He’s risking everything for you, after all.

 

_There must be another way._

 

“I’ve got vehicles, all brand new and top of the line.  They can be yours, if you help.”

“I think we got ourselves a deal.”

Viper smiles, another fanged muzzle hidden under wool as white as snow.

 

* * *

 

Things between Mako and you are a little complicated, sure.  You didn’t know it was a mistake, though, to believe you are still friends.

“You broke up?  When?  Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

You wish you could be the bigger person and ask if he is okay.  But all these half truths are getting to you - you start to wonder what even _could_ be real, and what you've just convinced yourself is reality.  Especially when he declares:

“I just overheard Shady Shin and Viper.  We've been double crossed.”

You and Mako pull off a harrowing escape, manning a speedboat in a chase away from the operation where you were supposed to be the catowl catching the mouse.

 

“Someone paid the Triple Threats to keep us distracted.”

“Distracted?  From what?”

 

Instead, you became the koala-sheep, following woolly claws until you are led directly over the cliffside.

 

* * *

 

You can feel it - you slipping away from yourself, a desperate, gasping mania left in your wake, scraping for purchase but finding nothing left to tear through.

 

“I'm ruined.  My company...it’s over.”

“We should check out your other warehouses.  Maybe they didn't have time to hit them all.”

“You don't understand.  Everything I had was in here.”

Disappointment slams your temples, throbbing with every blink and each beat of your pulse as you think of how you have disappointed Jinji again.  Kunqou and Tarza.  Even Avatar Korra.

(You figured delivering the mecha tanks would be redemptive – the only way to use such terrible creations for good, to achieve peace.

Now you are left with grotesque and violent visions, the commandeered mecha tanks undoubtedly soon to wreak havoc on some unsuspecting region. Korra has been robbed of her remaining chance to save her father and her tribe.  And your only opportunity to salvage your image, your company, and your father’s name, is completely squandered.  You know your face occupies every cockpit, fingers operating each gear as you tear apart the Water Tribes and your company with your own two hands.

 

_Who is the monster now?)_

  
  
The instinct to survive pounds against your chest wall, and you imagine your eyes look too similar to your father's during his escape from the tarmac, after his failed attempt at ending you.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I can figure this out.”

Mako has lost, too – his parents, his home, his youth, any chance at normalcy.  Why isn’t he getting it.  Why won’t he just let it all fall.

“Just stop.  It’s over.  I give up.”

“I’m not giving up on you.”

 

It stings at first as you recall that it _was_ Mako that gave up on you.  Gave up by kissing Korra, and refraining from telling you.

_But he gave up on Korra, too, right?_

Next thing you know, your lips have found Mako’s - it’s a lonely and desperate act, you aching for the heat you _want_ to have consume you; searching for the sensation that both saves you, and pushes you over the edge; alights your skin while pulling you from the trajectory of a speeding arrowhead, just in time.

 

Such solace never comes.

 

That doesn’t stop you from trying to find it on him, though, your own lips accepting a dangerous flame, threatening to claw its way down and singe your throat raw.

 

* * *

 

Returning to your office feels more like a defeat than a reclamation.  You stumble your way to your desk, not at all prepared to hear your office phone ring as soon as you sit down.  When you lift it from the receiver, the caller beats you to introductions.

“ _President Sato_.”

“President Raiko.”  

 

Your elbows land softly on the surface of the desk, one hand reaching for a pad of paper and a pen.  “To what do I owe such a correspondence?”

“ _I heard about your shipment.  Quite a shame, Miss Sato.  I do hope you know that Republic City intends to do all it can to apprehend the individuals responsible - it’s in our best interest to ensure that our waters remain safe and,” you sense something sinister in the way he suggests, “legal.  Yue_ knows _that the Republic has had enough scandals as of late - I don’t want to imagine what another smear could do to our office.  Or..._ ”  

The conversation pulls taut, threatening to snap as your hand grips the receiver tightly.

“ _Or to yours, for that matter.  I assume Future Industries has had enough bad press for a lifetime, don’t you think?_ ”

Sweat forms along your brow as your recklessness becomes apparent - as you realize what hiring the Triple Threats to illegally commandeer Civil War agitators could do to your reputation.

 

“ _I know that you do incredible work, Asami.  The kind of work this city wants to support, and needs to see publicized.  That’s why I’d like to offer you a deal_.”

Throat dry, you try to conjure a steady voice to inquire, “President Raiko, you know that I’m more than happy to contract Future Industries’ services with the city, as I’ve done countless times in the past.  Is there anything more I can do to advance the goals of the Republic?”

Raiko lets out a low, condescending laugh, tone hardening.  “ _I’d like to solicit you for campaign support.  Help promote my platform, and I can ensure you adequate access to several resources, including our top-notch PR team, just in case there are any...unexpected stories in circulation_.”

You can hear the implied threat, hyper aware that somehow, President Raiko learned of your sting operation, and knows of its failure.   _Or ensured it._

 

Maybe your suspicions have been wrong all along.  Maybe it was never Varrick you should have been wary of, but instead, the president of the Republic himself.  After all, the tribal divide in his very own city became violently explosive, and he still refuses to provide aid to the Southern Water Tribe, struggling to defend their home.  Perhaps he sabotaged your sting operation in an attempt to remain removed from the conflict, and to leverage the event over you and your company for campaign support.  It’s possible that he even used the tumultuous Equalist revolution to further his own objective, capitalizing on the fallout to push a democratic agenda, and thus his presidency.  Perhaps he has been a culprit, guilty of great acts of treason and blackmail all the while.

 

Or maybe there are just more wolves hiding in the forest than you could have ever realized.

 

“I...I don’t think I’m comfortable mobilizing Future Industries for such a purpose.  Financially or otherwise.”

You can hear his smile through the phone, all jagged teeth scraping along your cheek.  “ _Republic City as well as Future Industries’ employees - they need you.  And, I think we both know that you need me.  Just think about it - after all this activity with Team Avatar and...certain bending individuals, endorsing a nonbender may do you and your company some good.  Until next time, Miss Sato._ ”

“Good day, President Raiko.”

 

The receiver hangs from your hand limply, the dial tone filling the space between you and your sanity as you strengthen your resolve to do the unthinkable.  You call Varrick with a proposal he simply can’t refuse - a controlling interest in the Future Industries shares, along with your compliance in doing such a thing.

 

 _Control your destruction_.

 

So you pretend that his fangs sink back into his wool chops, and that his ears aren’t twitching to hear the pulses beneath your chest, calculating just how many you might have left before everything falls apart.

 

* * *

 

“Wait a minute.  Are you two -”  You can feel Bolin’s gaze upon you, a quizzical look, one he uses to mask anger - you’ve seen the expression before, on rare occasions, but never imagined it would ever be directed towards you.   

“You’re dating again!”

 

Mako immediately rejects the notion. “Dating?  No!”

“That’s crazy!” You argue. 

Pained disappointment flashes behind Bolin’s eyes as he points out, “Korra just left a week ago.”

 

Since her departure to recruit the United Forces, you have not heard a word from or about the Avatar.  You assume she’s returned to the South to support the resistance - and, considering the fact that she’s been gone this long and there has been no announcement regarding General Iroh’s involvement in the Civil War, you can only imagine that the fleet never made it to Southern shores.

You know you could have been there for her - the shared experience is uncanny.  Both fathers arrested and sent to public trial, Tonraq’s power over the tribe revoked while Hiroshi lost all honor for your family and company. Korra and you are teenage girls just trying to figure out the line between parent and child, guardian and criminal.

You know you would have been there for her.   _Should_ have.

 

Except her dad is right and innocent, while yours is wrong and guilty.  Oh so very guilty.

 

It proves to be one of many characteristics that runs in the family, seeing as you still feel culpable and selfish for not having listened to Korra.  For not realizing that the new girl in town - the same woman that stole your boyfriend’s attentions, rescued you, and saved your city - she identified Hiroshi and his plans.  Long before the United Forces ambush, before the Air Temple Island assault, before anyone close to you lost their bending, and before you stopped trusting your judgement altogether.

 

So, with Korra just barely out of the convoluted picture, you seek comfort in Mako, and thus have disappointed people (Bolin and yourself) yet again – that develops into a repeat offense, too.

The guilt compresses on your chest, a constant weight that seems to only grow heavier by the day; you wonder, after all of your mistakes are accounted for, if you're in fact worthy of being Korra’s friend.  If, even with every good intention stitched into wanting to support her, disastrous outcomes and isolation are still just as hereditary as your slightly dimpled chin and the fine point in your nose.  

 

_Who is the monster now?_

 

  
Such are the consequences of cruel fate, and all that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plan is to post Part III of Spirits soon, and then there will be another made up Book (2.5) where Asami will finally catch a few breaks (many with a certain Avatar).
> 
> Again, these two put in a bunch of time to read this before I posted because they are incredibly brave and maybe slightly masochistic. Thank you both for making sure this doesn't suck too terribly.
> 
> [SarahDemo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahDemo/pseuds/SarahDemo)  
> [havuhadanosejob](http://archiveofourown.org/users/havuhadanosejob/pseuds/havuhadanosejob)  
>  
> 
> And readers, thank you so much for reading and all the nice comments - really motivated me to trudge through the hellscape that is Book 2. <3


	6. Book 2: Spirits, Part III

“Asami, open up!  Asami!”

 

A pounding continues against the entrance of your estate, reverberating through the halls until it dissolves into nothing.

“I checked your office already - I _know_ you’re in there.”

Shuffling listlessly to the door, your hand weakly meets the handle, possessing barely enough will to open it.  On the other side, you discover Bolin, his face displaying a mixture of genuine confusion, anger, and sympathy.

“I just got the call from the police station.  I’m headed there soon but...I knew before I checked on Mako, I needed to come see you.”

There’s an unspoken invitation there.  Fortunately, Bolin _knows_ , and accepts your silent refusal without protest.  Seeing Mako behind the same bars as your father - that's a thing your nightmares are made of.

 

A sudden heat envelops you - not the kind that melts your skin upon contact, but rather a protective layer in a chill, wrapping around you whole.  Bolin’s arms pull you in close, his chin resting on your shoulder as he says, “I love you, and so does he.  I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so  _stupid_ ,” you retort with a whimper, eyes welling up without your permission.

“No, Asami, you’re _not_ , you’re absolutely not.  Mako would never - “

“I _know,_  I know.  He doesn’t make explosives, he didn’t sabotage my company.  But this all sounds so much like my fath-”

The word drops off, its meaning hanging thick in the air.

“It feels all too familiar.”  Your voice and breath steady, allowing Bolin to stand upright, hands continuing to grip your own.  “And we don’t have the Avatar here to solve the mystery this time,” you attempt a joke to hide your embarrassment, but the humor falls flat as Bolin’s face hardens.

“There is something you should know.”

 

You both move to sit right there on the floor of the foyer, Bolin never releasing your hand as he shares the truth that has proved so elusive - why Korra and Mako really broke up, a result of Mako foiling the recruitment of Iroh’s troops by revealing said strategy to President Raiko.  

Discovering cash and explosives in Mako's apartment was jarring, but you know there is something missing in that narrative.  Something setting Mako up for failure.  But you don't have the energy to vouch for him.  Not right now.

Instead, you fixate on what you feel most foolish about.  On how many times you’ve convinced yourself that Mako isn’t a fire hazard - how hard it is for you to imagine he betrayed the Water Tribes and all of Team Avatar in corresponding with President Raiko.  How you can’t believe that he wouldn’t tell you he had committed such a thing.  How effortlessly he moved beyond hurting Korra, and back to hurting you.

Of course you are mad - if the United Forces had been deployed to stop the Northern troops, then the war would be over, your company would be stable, Korra would be back safe, and none of... _this_...would have ever happened.  

 

“I confronted him about it, but all he did was give me this sort of forlorn look and say ‘I was just trying to do the right thing.’  But I don’t know what to believe anymore, because the right thing would have been to tell _you_ about it.”  Bolin presses the center of your palm lightly with his fingertips, eyes downcast.  “I feel so ashamed and stupid to have told Mako in the first place.”

“You shouldn't have to filter what you say to your own brother, an acting member of Team Avatar, and Korra’s boyfriend.”

“ _E_ _x_ -boyfriend,” he points out.  “I just feel like I can't do anything right.  First I screwed up the court bribe, and now I've made a mess of this, too.  I don't really feel like I deserve to be part of Team Avatar much these days.”

“None of that is true, Bolin.”  You offer a half smile between tear-stained cheeks, wiped away without preamble minutes ago by Bolin’s soft hands and softer words.  “No one is bringing hope to the streets like you are.  The city, and Team Avatar, needs Nuktuk more than you could ever imagine.”

He is clearly touched, but something else is on his mind.  “And I need _you,_ Asami.  The only reason I even met Varrick is because you gave me a chance.  I know everything is terrible right now, and I’m sure Varrick has already extended an invitation, but I'd like to ask you to go to my mover premiere tomorrow.  With me.  Well, and Pabu and Naga.”

 

Your instinct is refusal, but he won’t hear it.

“You haven’t been back to the arena since...since then.  Have you?”  You respond with your silence, though you know he isn’t really asking.  “You have a right to be there, as much as any of us.  You don’t owe him, or this city, _anything_.  Nothing at all.”

The words only sink skin deep - as much as you wish you could bring them closer, allowing the message to course through you until you truly believe it.

 

“But,” he pauses to flash you a charming grin, “you do owe me a night out - you won’t turn me down twice, will you?  And besides…”

He heaves a large sigh, before wrapping one arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side tightly  - his hold is so firm that you wonder if he will ever let go, or if you will just tumble to the ground, a box of spilled matches rattling across the floor, too much trouble to package back up again.

“I’m sorry that people keep trying to take this away from you.  Your dad, the benders that came for your mom, even my own brother.  But Asami, you owe yourself the world.  I just hope you decide one day to let yourself have it.”

 

* * *

 

It's been months since you've had reason to wear a formal dress. But when Bolin stops by your house donning a fitted suit, Naga and Pabu in tow, it's enough to let you believe that you might be able to tuck your troubling thoughts between the folds of your gown.  That maybe you can let Nuktuk be your hero, too, if only for the night.

(You choose not to address the fact that Nuktuk - his bravado, courage, and heroics - is inspired by a real Southern Water Tribeswoman you know.  Denial is always so kind, reserving such strife for another day.)

 

The sight of the arena makes you apprehensive, your feet entering its towering shadow for the first time since the Equalist revolution - you can hardly navigate your own home without your parents haunting your halls, let alone an entire stadium where the pro-bending moat seems to reflect only red, through your eyes.

Bolin notices.  He halts abruptly just outside the arena, stopping you at arm’s length to give you a once over before clicking his tongue.  “I knew this would happen.”

You cock your brow, in an attempt to appear playfully curious, but in the back of your mind, you’re worried he means that he knew your anxiety would be elicited and on display.  That your facade is too fragile to stand up to the monsters from your past, hidden just beneath the surface.

He rolls his eyes before prompting, “You do know that _I'm_ the one that is supposed to look like a mover star tonight, right?  Geez, I can’t take you anywhere.”

He looks disgruntled, but you swat his arm lightly anyway, releasing the smile he stowed away.  “Lead the way, Nuktuk.”

The mover begins in the midst a high-intensity chase scene, with the dialogue, props, costuming, and effects leaving much to be desired.  But the crowd is engrossed, and you are so very proud of Bolin - the only regret you have is that you didn’t support him through one of his premieres sooner.

Ginger sits in the same viewing balcony, inspecting her nails aloofly as her eyes absently track the action on the screen.  You turn to find Bolin, but he somehow looks even more distant.

“I think this is your best mover yet,” you offer with sincerity.

He sighs audibly, sadly.  “I just wish Mako was here to see it.”

 

You don’t have time to dwell on the idea, or to comfort him further, before the mover projects a scene that causes you to freeze.  Nuktuk is pictured chained to a wall, trapped before a fleet of mecha tanks.

You wish you _didn't_ know how to interpret such a thing - what it means for the Avatar-inspired protagonist to have to face and defeat the Sato-designed mecha tanks.  You peer around the arena, nervous other viewers will see that you are here, notice that the villain on screen is sitting right next to them.

 

Bolin appears similarly unsettled, though you aren’t sure about what, as he stands, wordlessly leaving the balcony box.  You follow him outside, positioning yourself so he has no chance to escape the question - a favor he’s done for you countless times.

“What’s wrong?”

He gestures to himself, as though to imply _he_ is what is wrong.  “Everything is going so well for me, but it feels empty without everyone around.”  The sentiment resonates as he lists off his everyones.  

 

“Korra is gone -

(You know that Korra isn’t just _gone_ \- you haven’t had time to worry about that either, but you also assume it isn’t your place.  That you will help if asked to, but you can’t go gallivanting after the Avatar at a time like this just because you are concerned.  Not after seeking out Mako first.)

"Mako is in jail -

(And you also know that Mako isn’t in jail justly, though you haven’t fought very hard to prove his innocence - instead, you’ve sent correspondences to each of the four nations, warning of a large, unauthorized shipment of mecha tanks that may be headed to their shores.  Instead, you’ve been on the phone almost every hour with Varrick’s and Future Industries’ PR team, trying futilely to control media coverage on how you attempted to run an illegal sting operation, threatening citizens everywhere with an illegal, inevitable distribution of your mecha tanks.)

"and you’re doing...business lady stuff."

But mostly, you know you aren’t really doing anything that suggests you are a capable president of Future Industries, the pressure from the pen used to sign away company shares to Varrick still pressing along your rigid fingers.

 

“Team Avatar’s fallen apart,” he finishes dejectedly.

“I know. Things have changed so much since we first met.”  There is nothing you can offer that won’t sound more empty than the loneliness that already surrounds him, so you suggest you both return inside to finish the mover.

“You go ahead.  I need another minute.”

 

You reluctantly retreat to your seat alone, wondering; if Nuktuk can’t define his purpose, then what in the world do you think you’re doing?

 

* * *

 

A crash sounds from the President’s balcony box - you aren’t sure at first if it is just a mover sound effect, but when Naga’s ears perk up and a snarl escapes Pabu, you know that the threat lives well beyond the screen.

You don't have your glove today, thinking it inappropriate to bring such a thing the arena, given your sordid history with the place.  Now, you have a sneaking suspicion that you've made a terrible mistake in your attempt to be tolerable.

Still, you grip the arms of your chair for leverage, ready to join the brawl - you and the president may not see eye to eye, but benders and non-benders see _him._ And you know that's important enough to fight for.

But you know that benders and non-benders see _you_ , too.  And while you won’t brandish your glove today, you have a few other tricks up your sleeve as a direct result of your father's legacy - one guaranteed to draw attention, sure to turn heads towards you and hearts away.

 

You learned to chi block - of course you did.  How could you possibly resist?

 

_Control your element.  Control your destruction._

 

But you’d rather go down in a fight than give Team Avatar a reason to believe you would ever fight against them.  And so, you prepare to take a few more hits than you should.  If it separates you further from the Equalists, then some additional scars are well worth it.

Just as you push to stand, the assailants are launched onto the pro-bending platform, Bolin following swiftly behind.  He incapacitates the waterbenders with ease, the crowd erupting in applause as a smile splits his face clear in half.

(He has missed this, it's so obvious now - he's always focused on helping others.  Though Nuktuk is an icon, Bolin is never going to find satisfaction in a career path where he thinks the person he is helping most is himself.)

 

“Who sent you?” he demands from the final attacker, an earthbent disc threatening his head.

 

And though you are still seated in the balcony, so far away, you can’t help but feel this is a reproduction of your father’s trial, in that _you_ and _your_ actions are being publicly interrogated, as he utters the only name that makes sense.

 

* * *

 

So Varrick turns out to be a wolf in wolf’s clothing, his multiple sets of fangs shimmering and pointed towards a trail of victims and prey.

 

How cruel of him, to set his own people against one another.  To instigate and support a Civil War, snaring and dragging it to Republic City's shores for his own purposes and gains.  To forge partnerships and relationships both with the people working to establish peace, and the people fighting to watch it all burn down.  To howl with explosives and war cries in the midst of the flock, never having to take even a single step to reach flesh, draw blood, and eat his fill.

 

And how incredibly foolish of you, to believe he wouldn't.

 

* * *

 

When Mako accepts Korra back with open arms, you can’t really blame him for the decision.

 

What you _can_ fault him for, is being weak, just like you, but not quite _as_ weak - for taking advantage of your heightened vulnerability when what you needed was a lifeline, while all he sought was a distraction.  You could accuse him for not being forthright, and allowing you to believe Korra was fighting in the South with a clear mind and an uncompromised heart (a guilt that hovers over you, having being so wrapped up in your own fragility that you could not fathom something may have happened to Korra - something that put the Avatar in a situation far more dangerous than Korra having ever trusted Mako with her affections in the first place).  But mostly, you can hold him accountable for fielding Korra’s love, without telling Korra the whole truth, which sounds so unsurprisingly familiar.

 

A scowl cracks the surface of your mask, pained resentment and silent disgust oozing from the opening as Mako embraces the Avatar.  But you know that it’s all a cover - that really, you’re realizing Mako was never more than an excitable flame, flashy and forbidden, toxic and lacking remorse.  Exactly your type, but not what caused your heart to race at the sight of an air bison landing at the pro-bending arena.  Not what led you to offering your aid to the cause, no hesitation, no holds barred.  Not the reason you’ve been searching for a heat that is both dangerous and secure, unapologetic for its power while repentant for its auxiliary damage - more exotic and tantalizing than anything you’ve read in a book, or seen in a pro-bending match.  

The scowl hides the most important revelation and consequence of it all.  That this flame you felt slipping away, caressing and singeing between your fingers, just beyond your reach - was never Mako’s.

 

_Control your element._

 

And it was never yours, either.

 

* * *

 

“I talked to the rebels.  They said Unalaq’s got the Southern portal surrounded.  Harmonic Convergence is only a few hours away.”

Once again, the pressure of unrelenting urgency has found it’s place upon Korra’s shoulders, a rapidly increasing strain that she must endure as she determines the future course of the world.

“Then we have to break through the enemy lines ourselves, and get to the portal now.”

There’s so much to say - so much information to internalize and digest, as a result of Korra’s return.  Jinora’s spirit being trapped in another realm, Korra having learned about Wan and Raava, Unalaq attempting to merge with Vaatu - you have so many questions, but Korra knows this is not the time for any more discussion.

“There’s no use in talking anymore - we know what our mission is.”

“A suicide mission.”  Bolin remarks under his breath.

 

“Hold on,” you halt the conversation, waiting for the group’s undivided attention as you conceive of a plan.  “We have a flying bison, and there’s a plane on Varrick’s ship.  Maybe we can attack from above.”

Korra squares her shoulders towards you, still taut with tension, but you notice a wave of relief roll over her as she transfers her trust into you and your strategy.  “What are you thinking?”  

 

And though your hands are just as shaky as the rest of the group’s, you hold them out to your sides, fingers stretched, to hold as much of Korra’s burden as you possibly can.

 

* * *

 

Since their reveal on the tarmac, you have trained yourself to be capable of piloting a biplane in just about any weather condition.  But not even the most severe snowstorm compares to the barrage of waterbent ice shards soaring towards all that you are responsible for protecting - the last remaining biplane in your arsenal, and Mako and Bolin balanced on its wings.

You pull so roughly on the plane controls that you fear, with the frigid air, you may just snap them clear off.  Somehow, you are managing to evade each ice dagger, bellowing commands for Bolin and Mako to attack the Northern troops guarding the entrance to the Southern portal.  The brothers work together, destroying a few buildings before you overlook one side of the cockpit and find several mecha tanks, armed and aimed, launching netting at the biplane with each tactical descent.  

You clench your teeth, realizing that the mecha tanks are only in Unalaq’s possession due to Varrick - he must have procured them for the North after successfully stealing the sting operation ship, as well as the supply left in your Future Industries warehouse.  You watch as Bolin knocks them out of commission - it almost makes you wish you weren’t the only pilot in Team Avatar.  That, instead, it was you flattening the commandeered war machines, watching as they fall one by one into their snowy coffins.

Unfortunately, tormented day-dreaming doesn’t last for long - the grounded soldiers begin waterbending ice shards the size of grown men, launching them at your biplane with incredible velocity.  You scrape by a few, but several make contact with the plane’s frame, smoke immediately billowing from the joints.  You turn to see if Oogi made it to the portal, but your descent is too rapid, and the plane is becoming increasingly difficult to steer.  Eska and Desna deliver the final blow, their icy attack snapping the tail of the plane into two separate pieces.  A large explosion rattles the frame of the plane before you are launched into an uncontrollable nosedive.  

 

You look to Bolin and Mako, both gripping the biplane wing supports, looking fearful.  You aren’t sure you can do anything to lessen the impact of the impending crash, but you remember what Korra said, when she told you to jump, you doing so without hesitation.  When she found you underwater, instructing you to breathe amidst the waves.  It worked for you then, your lungs filling with necessary oxygen above the currents of the ocean, beneath the torrents of a Civil War - you hope it works for the team now.

“Brace yourselves!”

 

_Control your destruction._

 

Then you release the gears, close your eyes, and wait to meet a tundra grave of your own.

 

* * *

 

You think you can distinguish the outline of the splintered biplane besides you, but your vision is mostly an opaque white, head reeling from the impact of the crash landing.  You aren’t entirely sure if your body is intact - your face feels like it’s resting in snow, but there are hard pieces of metal, plastic, and glass all around you, undoubtedly fragments of the plane and your flying equipment.  You think you feel the slightest hint of what could be severe pain, but the ice surrounding you has numbed most of your senses.

That is, until your body is lifted abruptly, someone with a hold on each of your arms.  You still can’t quite see, and your limbs feel like they are only just coming back to life, but you fight back anyway - you can hear Mako and Bolin nearby, which fills you with relief, as they appear to be resisting aggressors as well.  But as soon as your sight clears, you realize none of you are successful in fending off your attackers - the Northern troops have you incapacitated, hands behind your own backs in defeat.

You are exhausted, and don’t really know how many steps you are able to take, or where you are headed.  But you can only hope that others were more lucky in their mission to reach the portal.  And so, that's what you do - you hope, with all of your might.

 

* * *

 

“We tried.”

Mako looks so contrite, and sounds so defeated, that you are almost upset you were ever angry with him over something as petty as a kiss.  

Of course, it takes the world crashing down for you to realize such a thing.

 

Your body aches, hands behind you, remaining harshly fastened together as Unalaq holds Team Avatar, Tonraq, Tenzin, and Kya hostage.

Tonraq, battered and broken, makes a desperate plea.  “You’re still my _brother_.  You’re Eska and Desna’s _father_.  Are you willing to throw your humanity away to become a _monster_?”

 

You swallow hard, believing you’ve seen enough fathers become monsters in your short life.

 

“I’ll be no more of a monster than your own daughter.”

You find Korra glaring with frightening and admirable resilience, as though ready to attack at any moment, even when shackled and immobilized.

“After the Harmonic Convergence, I will come for Korra.”

And though you know Korra is strong, the thought renders you nauseous - that you all have failed her so terribly.  That the entire Avatar cycle may end, due to your inability to stop yet another tyrant bent on chaos.

 

Just as you’re about to lose all hope, you hear the mecha tanks - _your_ mecha tanks - dysfunction beyond the tent walls.  Circuitry boards short, huge metal bodies falling all around the icy base, before Bumi sails into the hostage tent, having disarmed the entire fortress.

You are both grateful and incredibly apologetic, that someone managed to be successful when you couldn’t.

 

You also promise yourself that you’ll never let that happen again.

 

* * *

 

Korra directs the words to her father, but it’s obvious that the message is intended for all of you - the whole world, even.

“This is _my_ fight now.”

Held hostage by only helplessness, you merely watch as the rest of Team Avatar prepares to transcend the Spirit Portal to fight what seems like inevitable chaos. You should be honored that the Avatar has entrusted you with her father’s life, but you can’t overcome feeling like you are fighting two separate fronts.

Your body almost freezes with familiarity - a chilling reminder of having kept your own father at bay on a tarmac, while the Avatar sacrificed herself at the hands of the most powerful bloodbender in existence.  Now here you are, remaining in this dimension to care for the wounded, instead of fighting the valiant battle to defend the Avatar and the world’s only hope.

Though you can’t swallow the anxiety and the disappointment of inadequacy, you do manage to help Tonraq scale Oogi with Naga's assistance, and learn to steer an Air Bison quicker than any non-bender you’ve ever read about.

 

("Do me a big favor and keep your eyes open for me.")

("Why don't you tell me your best joke, Tonraq.  Tell it to me ten times.")

("Hey Chief, stay with me, okay?")

 

“Yip-yip.”

 

* * *

 

 

When you finally manage to deliver the injured Chief to his terrified wife, she cups his face and kisses him on the cheek _hard_ , recruiting Kya to submerge him into a healing pool.  She peers to you in a desperate, futile search for her daughter, knowing full well that she would not be accompanying you.  

Besides, the look upon your face reveals it all – Korra is not safe, and there is nothing any of you can do about it.

 

How trying, to be the Avatar’s mother.  Such a difficult existence, in her constant efforts to protect the Avatar, despite knowing that she must be a hero, no matter the cost.  How precarious, to dedicate yourself to someone that has sworn themselves to everyone else.  What an agonizing, beautiful thing - to love the Avatar.

You try to understand, but you are worried.  Afraid you already do, in some capacity.  That you may have understood all of this, a long time ago.

Senna doesn’t request clarification as she scrambles for more healing water, but before tending to Tonraq, she squeezes her eyes closed, whispering a Southern Water Tribe prayer you’ve only read about.  If memory serves you, it translates roughly to:

 

> _“May death face_
> 
> _no greater resistence_
> 
> _Than in the waves_
> 
> _tempting her hand tonight”_

 

It is a pained wonder that leads you to contemplate how often she must say these words.  The idea is so consumptive that you find yourself trying and failing to remember the powerful stanza, wanting to utter it back, just beneath your breath.  But it seems nothing can hide the clouds of condensation that escape your lips as you exhale, wishing to know the prayer so you might repeat it yourself, over and over again.

She suddenly stops to looks upon you with soft, wet eyes, before tugging you down by your slicked cheeks ( _did your cheeks become wet_ _, too?_ ), kissing your forehead and gifting you more warmth than you’ve felt your entire time in the South.

 

* * *

 

Once Senna tends to Tonraq's extensive injuries, she asks you to take a seat next to him, the basin of healing water resting between you.

"I'm sorry for the delay - Katara and I are a bit shorthanded, what with Kya being away, and some of the healers winding up in here themselves."

You peer around the healing hut, the space and beds filled to capacity.  Some wounded are leaning against the side walls and support beams, and the scent of iron stings your nose.

These people have been fighting a war - have almost lost their Chief, and are visibly anxious over the Avatar, the girl they've known and loved since her childhood.  There's no room for you at the battle for the Spirit Portal, the fight for the world, but this certainly isn't your place, either.

 

"I'm not here for me."

 

You don’t say anything else, of course, but your innate guarding gives you away - she rotates a swell of water between her hands, until you can see a trace of steam rising between her fingers.

She doesn’t ask what hurts - rather, the heated liquid courses over your limbs and shoulders, finding small fragments of shrapnel and pilot goggle glass all along the way.

“What happened to you?  What did you do?”

 

You wonder the same - what exactly _did_ you do?

“Not enough,” you answer in a choked voice, the warm healing water a direct contrast to what you feel like you ought to be experiencing, as the rest of Team Avatar faces the world’s end.

 

She says nothing of your despair, instead continuing to diligently work on mending your broken bones and bruised skin - an obvious distraction tactic (for you or for her, you aren’t entirely sure).  Still, you find the gesture both incredibly kind, and remarkably wise - to focus on what she is capable of fixing, and doing everything in her power to do just that.

You will try to remember to do the same, in the future.  If that exists, after tonight.

 

* * *

 

Color suddenly flushes Jinora’s young face, her eyes opening for the first time since you arrived at the healing pool.  Katara rushes to her side, relief taking over her tired features as her granddaughter sits up.

You notice that Jinora has lost some weight - her bones are a bit more prominent and her eyes sunken.  Even so, she is _awake_ , and she is _alive_ \- you want to channel the happiness that has overwhelmed the rest of the healing hut.  But you can't help asking.

“What about Korra?”

Jinora smiles - in a way that causes your breathing to slow and your blood to finally reach the tips of your fingers.  You wonder if the small girl isn’t bending the air around your lungs to calm you.  If she isn't reminding you that she never would have come back, without knowing that the Avatar would be returning, too.

 

“Don’t worry.”  

She relays your mantra with an exhausted smile, though it may be the first time you've believed in the words yourself.

 

“Korra saved the world.”

 

* * *

 

Korra rescues the spirits in two dimensions, but sacrifices most of her own in the process.

 

Your guilt and disappointment in solely hearing of her heroic venture (as opposed to participating in it) is momentarily overshadowed by your insatiable appetite for knowledge, as you carefully piece together information from Jinora, Bolin, and the Republic newspapers.

Korra managed to find Wan, in the recesses of her ancient memory, and relive his story - establishing, for the first time in recent history, what the Avatar actually _is_ \- what she is meant to be.  And it seems that you’ve added a new member to Team Avatar - Korra continues to distinguish herself, becoming the first Avatar since Wan to have learned of and met Raava, the magnificent light spirit responsible for keeping the world in balance, and finding the person meant to establish such virtue.

Heartbreakingly, during her disastrous battle with Vaatu, you learn that every past life, even Wan, was violently ripped away from her soul, lifetime by lifetime, until even Raava was removed from her body all together.  And yet, Korra overcame literally all odds, transforming her very spirit into a weapon, assaulting UnaVaatu in a grand display upon Yue Bay.

Korra always reported that she was highly ungifted when it came to spiritual matters, but you’re starting to believe that she had it all wrong.  That, just maybe, she has the most powerful spirit of them all.

 

It excites you to think that her impact on the world is only just beginning - as only Korra decided to open the Spirit Portals, after at least 10,000 years of avatars deciding not to do such a thing.  Now they will remain accessible, changing the world forever.  

And so, even without past lives, without Raava, and with the world on the verge of chaos, Korra knew just what to do.  And you all are alive because of it.

 

This is when you realize that Korra isn't remarkable because she is the Avatar.  She is the Avatar because _Korra_ \- the teenage girl with a lot to say and even more on her mind and the entire world resting on her shoulders - is _legendary_.

No book could have prepared your mind for such a spectacle, such a phenomenon - to witness and absorb history and the future, all embedded in the body of a woman you have the honor to call a teammate, and the pleasure to call a friend.  

But even you know, as you recall how her blue eyes and dark skin contrast with the snowy winter months, that it isn’t your mind, Raava, or Spirit Portals you should be most concerned about.  

 

Not when your entire vision is enveloped in an ebbing navy - convincing you that your lungs are meant to breathe underwater forever.

Not when there is an immediate, intangible blue flame touching everything you know, warming everything that you are.

Not when all of these things rest just beyond your reach - flares dancing between your fingertips, but never within your grasp.

 

You know this to be far more precarious than anything your mind could ever conjure - watching such a rare flame slip away from your reality, but never from your conscience.

 

_Control your element.  Control your destruction._

 

You question if there truly is any element of control.  If you are a fool to believe that you ever had a chance to regulate your destruction in mastering an element that is so elusive, even to the most practiced firebenders. If this extraordinary power belongs to no one, except the girl that navigates two worlds as a god, revising all the rules as she goes, redefining the universe as you know it, and rewriting the future of all those living in her wake.

 

  
Especially yours.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book two. Is over. Thank all that is holy (including KA) - though, Book 2 left some really...fun loose ends to address. 
> 
> So that means up next is another fake book; 2.5. (I knoooow that you think it's fake/ Maaaaaaybe fake's what I like)
> 
> Again, these two are the MVPs. If you managed to survive this story long enough to reach this note, it's because of them.
> 
> [SarahDemo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahDemo/pseuds/SarahDemo)  
> [havuhadanosejob](http://archiveofourown.org/users/havuhadanosejob/pseuds/havuhadanosejob)  
> I've also been toying around with the idea of doing a Korra version - so, similar style, but with a Korra flair. No promises, but maybe?
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting and being generally lovely. <3


	7. Book 2.5: Tried and True, Part I

You know that you have.  Made a mistake, that is.

 

“Before today’s proceedings, I would like to take this opportunity to accept responsibility for my actions.”

 

It seems the expression “I am sorry” has become permanently poised between your vocal cords, the message as common and natural as your own name.

You deliver what is reportedly a heartfelt apology addressed to Future Industries' staff - an admission of guilt to live and fester on employees' minds and public record forever.

(It is not necessary for you to point out how lucky you are that Mako led the unauthorized mission - how different this all would unfold, had you conducted such an operation without the police also frantically attempting to cover their own incriminating tracks.)

 

You even visit the cemetery for the first time in months, apologizing for your father’s treachery, for her premature demise, and for whatever it is that you've become in the process.  For how your world turns and turns, in spite of all that.

(It stings, believing your mother to toss in her own grave, as the devastation of cities becomes a business staple for Future Industries, the wreckage putting food on her own daughter’s table.

 _Who is the monster now?_ )

 

Yet another opportunity to showcase your new mantra.  “I am sorry.  For jeopardizing your trust in my transparency.  For forcing you to doubt my judgement.  And for disappointing you all by following in the disreputable footsteps of the previous, failed leadership of this company.”

You bow to your own board, reluctant to stand upright.  Fear grips your your stomach, you far too afraid to meet justified, penalizing glares, glossy with toxins.  Far too terrified to discover eyes glazed over with the fresh poison, iris-shaped darts nestling beneath your skin, as the world watches the necrosis take hold of your limbs, never to let go.  Far too horrified to recognize how your face has twisted into your father’s and Amon’s and Vaatu’s all at once, a heinous mask welded together only by burn scars.

 

_Control your destruction._

(As a woman infatuated with speed - with acceleration and adrenaline and ascension - it’s a shame, you think, that poison and flame and justice don’t do their job faster.  It’s just a damn shame.)

 

* * *

 

In the wake of a Civil War, there is yet another rebuild and relief effort in your lifetime, lead by none other than the Avatar herself.  She hits the cracked Republic pavement running, busy settling tribal tensions and regulating realm integration within city borders, and at opposite ends of the globe  - remnants of a war that has both nothing and everything to do with her (a sensation you know only too well).

But Republic City - a metropolis ripped out by the roots, the very foundation replaced with unfamiliar, unsympathetic, otherworldly vines - isn’t the only victim of the recent battle between balance and chaos.

 

Left grieving the loss of past lives, Korra's internal casualty sends shockwaves far beyond the elemental master herself - a heartbreaking strain for a widow, children, and grandchildren, now with Aang’s final thread to the world effectively severed.  Without adequate reason, this abstract dismemberment looms over you as well, marking a shift in your own attentions.  On late nights and even earlier mornings, you find yourself revisiting your texts on Avatars - biographies and fables mapping their personalities, charting their flaws, and preserving their valor.

You hoped this would provide some insight into what Korra has lost - however, the more archives you digest, the more convinced you are that Korra was always meant to forego all deference to the revered Avatar wisdom, instead to rely solely on her intuition in order to open the Spirit Portals for another 10,000 years.  Even as a mere teenager, awe has become typical when acknowledging all the various achievements and accolades that accompany Korra’s name; Daughter of a chief.  Savior of a city.  Hero of the South.  Avatar of two dimensions.  A woman capable and daring enough to act and embody a deity – diverting from all things ancient and textbook, designing her own methodology altogether.  Often, you are left to consider if there is anything she _can’t_ do.

 

And sometimes, you wonder if she is lonely, bearing the weight of two worlds on her shoulders, now more alone than ever.

 

* * *

 

While a failed sting operation may have stained your image - the corners of your portraiture now charred and curled, a subtle grey ash spreading until even your own face is rendered unrecognizable - still, Korra manages to absorb most of the heat in the Republic lately.

 

> _“The president and the Avatar remain at each others’ throats, with Nuktuk throwing a heavy punch -_ _stay tuned for this juicy soundbite recorded just yesterday.”_

 

Vines have all but consumed streets and buildings, and spirits wander freely within the previously human-only domain, generating and validating the global opinion that the state most distressed by the inter-realm integration is none other than Republic City.  Nations, cities, and waters beyond Raiko's jurisdiction have experienced a rough transition, adapting to the presence of spirits, but the Republic entertains exclusively human-spirit hostility.  You are convinced, now more than ever, that this has more to do with leadership than any regional, cultural, or spiritual differences, though.

After all, these are relations developed under a presidential administration responsible for erecting more war memorials than embassies.

 

> _“Don't you think consulting with world powers before introducing another dimension would have been sensible, Avatar Korra?”_

 

You can practically feel the Avatar’s snarl in her response to the President.

 

> _“If memory serves me, you didn't seem too keen on meeting.”_

> _“Yeah, you know, when Korra asked for aid from the Republic to effectively prevent the end of_ _humanity?  Twice?”_

 

Bolin has transformed into a pop-culture icon with a force to reckon with.  Regarded as a national hero and celebrity, his valiant efforts to rescue the first democratically elected president of the Republic on the heels of a successful mover career allows him a certain degree of leverage over public discourse and opinion.  And he wants to use it, for good, in that admirable way that is so befitting of him.

He often reminds you of your own notable influence upon Republic City - a fate your father prophesized countless times in your youth.

 _("You’ll run this city one day, Asami.  And you will be great - it will be the luckiest city in the world.”)_  

Many times you are left to wonder if it is more power than you've ever desired in determining the future of this city, a place already so prone to collapsing into ashen debris.

 

_Control your element._

 

When it comes to protecting Korra’s public integrity and precarious reputation, however - the woman credible for the very existence of you, your city, and such a remarkably ungrateful Republic - both you and Bolin will deploy whatever firepower you have, any chance you get.

 

* * *

 

Rumors of how Avatar Korra and Officer Mako broke things off continues circulating the tabloids.

 

Mako's become a recluse ever since the debacle, though you were never naive enough to believe he would issue you an apology.  Pain - even when he inflicts it - has always resulted in his withdrawal.

Substantially distracted by her all-absorbing Avatar role, Korra has every reason for moving on from Mako faster and easier than Mako has from her, though you have a suspicion that it is far simpler than all that - more personal and innate than the great demand of her duties.  She's no longer the girl that Mako initially rebuffed, adjusting to urban pacing for the first time, and struggling to overcome the final element on her path to become the most versatile bender in the world.  She's effectively transformed from a city-struck, lovesick teenager, into a competent, powerful leader, expected and able to direct oceans and move mountains.

You wonder, actually, if mastering airbending marked the most destructive blow to Mako and his affections.  If fulfilling her destiny as an Avatar signified the end of her elementary infatuation with the heartbroken firebender, effectively outgrowing one of the most desired bachelors in all of the Republic.  Months ago, Korra couldn’t contain a childish crush.  Now, she controls where and when the earth itself breathes - effortlessly prescribing exactly how much those around her can take her into their lungs and cough her back out, entirely indifferent to any developed dependency on fumes containing a hint of her essence.

How else can a firebreather be smothered this easily, strangled by something so impalpable?  Choking on his own smoke, gliding effortlessly between the cracks in his chest?

 

Regardless, you think, if he wasn’t aware before, he certainly knows now - the Avatar’s own exhale can create a perfect firestorm, a phenomenon of glorious combustion and scale.   But.

 

_Control your element.  Control your destruction._

 

Deprive the very same flame of its precious oxygen, and even it, with all its terrifying majesty, is left with no other choice but to die.

 

* * *

 

“Hello, this is Asami Sato of Future Industries.  I am trying to reach Chief Tonraq.  Is he available?”

Feminine laughter resonates from the other side of the line.  " _N_ _o need to be so proper, Asami.  Not after everything._ "

 

Flashbacks to a half-dead chieftain, the tug of air bison reins on your palms, and long scars disrupting the Avatar's face are enough of a reminder - no matter how difficult this conversation is about to be, you are glad to be anywhere but back in that war-haunted, iron-saturated healing hut, with her daughter fighting and dying, worlds away.

 

"It's good to hear your voice again, Senna.  How are you?"

" _We are putting in a lot of effort._ "  Her tone alone reveals the truth - the weight of sleepless nights and hard decisions straining each vowel.  " _But the North is resentful, the South feels betrayed, and Desna and Eska are so young..._ "

You wince a bit at the hushed acknowledgement - at the recognition that their slightly older cousin is to thank for both cousins and tribes being alive, far more responsibility than Senna can bear to mention, so early in the morning.  So she concludes with, " _We are working our hardest, but I think we are in for a much longer winter than we prepared for_."

"I want to help.  I need..." To fix things. Make amends.  Get your war machines out of the snow and into the incinerator.  

 

_Control your destruction_

 

"That is why I called."

" _T_ _onraq is busy right now, I'm afraid.  But tell me what you had in mind, I can discuss it with him once he returns._ "

"I was hoping to aid in the reconstruction efforts, in exchange for a promise."  You take a deep breath, ashamed to have to ask for anything in return from the South, a space so devastated by your hands already.  "I am aware Desna and Eska have confirmed their stance of support in the reconstruction of the Southern properties and infrastructure damaged during the war.  I think we can accelerate these efforts, if we were to utilize the resources already in the region.  I would like to sanction the use of the mecha tanks solely for building and construction efforts, as long as I am kept abreast of just how many remain between the North and the South.  I can supply technicians and operators, contracted through the North, to which the Northern chiefs have already agreed.  And once the reconstruction project is complete, the mecha tanks are to be returned to Future Industries."

" _We will resign to almost any and all assistance in rebuilding our home, especially if it's funded by the North._ "  A short, dark sound, almost forced - something that can hardly be called a laugh - reaches through the phone.  " _I_ _'ll make sure to inform him of your proposal today.  Expect a phone call from him before nightfall, to establish a more formal agreement._ "

"Thank you.  If there is anything else I can do, please, don't hesitate to let me know."

" _Actually, Asami, there is something."_

 

You are a bit taken aback by her immediacy, as though this has been on her mind.  But you recover quickly.  "What is it, Senna?"

" _I_ _know that you...care.  About Korra._ "  

The statement is heavy with a certain deliberateness, the quiet implication more than she would ever dare whisper aloud, even amidst the loudest Southern blizzard.  " _We have our hands so tied with the reconstruction and coalition efforts here but...please. If you can, look out for her. Just...whatever you can do_."

Now a silence lingers - long enough that if there were any insecurity in the request, it would provoke a consequential stammer, a graceless stumble into a following, urgent comment, or question, or _anything_ , in order to fill the void created by embarrassment and social miscalculation.  But her original comment swirls between your ears - she  _knows_.  She knows your answer, before she even asks.  She knew, the moment you unwittingly cried beside the Avatar's mother, frozen in that healing hut, insulated with fear, hopelessness, and something unspeakable.

 

"You have my word."

 

She mutters foreign syllables that are barely audible - if you could afford any more time and energy to translate, you would recognize (the phrase " _I_ _know, I know_ ") - before she issues a warm goodbye, the remaining space filled with the drone of a dial tone.

 

* * *

 

Bolin enthusiastically rejoins Future Industries as your interim executive assistant.

He assures you that it is just until he gets back on his feet.  Just until his acting or probending skills come in handy, again.  But you already know - even if you don't run Future Industries, you will always make a place for Bolin, the way he always has for you.

 

The staff take to him quite readily, even Tarza tolerating his seemingly endless optimism.  There are other perks, as well - he ensures you consume more than simply dry cereal, and prevents you from falling asleep on your work couch too often (“Asami, the world isn't ending right now, _right_ this second - it's time to get out of here.”).

But perhaps the most rewarding aspect of working alongside Bolin is the uninhibited interaction, as you both attempt to debrief and process your experience fighting with Team Avatar.  When you remind each other that you have a true friend in this place you both so desperately want to call home again.

 

//

 

"You’re in the paper again today."

"Who knew _this_ was the job that would earn me so much notoriety!"

"It's a criticism."

"How could I possibly have messed things up already?"

"It would appear a few individuals are a uncomfortable with an unseasoned female president hiring an even more inexperienced male employee for your position."

"They better _get_ okay with it!  Otherwise, send them over - I'll teach them a thing or two about messing with Asami Sato’s assistant."

 

//

 

“I feel so stupid about Varrick - I defended that guy, against my own brother!  And now he is nowhere to be found, running around after what he did, without facing justice.”

“Mako has already forgiven you, Bolin.  Now you just need to work on forgiving yourself.”

“You best practice what you preach, Miss Sato.”

 

//

 

"Just saw the pictures from the Yue Bay battle - no wonder Republic City is in shambles!"

"I hope to meet with Lin to discuss what she saw on the ground here, as well as Iroh.  I have never heard of spiritual energy like that."  
  
"Even the United Forces couldn't stand up to it!  Though their new, fancy, secret Air Force seems to have made quite an impression."  
  
With feigned preoccupation, you shuffle your files silently .  
  
"I don't know how they managed to pull off something like that - an entire fleet of biplanes in, what, a few months?  It's almost like they already knew how to build and pilot them, somehow."  
  
He looks at you, you look to your paperwork.  "Seems we both have some questions for the General."

 

//

 

“How are things with Ginger?”

“Let’s not open that can of gecko-worms.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Dating a diva.  You have _no_ idea what it’s like -- you know what, yes you do.”

“What constitutes being a diva?”

“Spending inordinate amounts of time on your hair while managing to be an awful partner.”

 

//

 

“You know, when I said it was a suicide mission, that didn’t translate to ‘Asami should volunteer’.”

“Who else was going to fly the plane, Bolin?”

“Don't change the subject - you didn't recklessly crash one plane in the South, but _two.”_

 _“_ You say that like I had much of a choice.”

He pokes you in the nose with his chopstick.  “So many of us care about you being here, Asami.  Just know that.”

 

//

 

“What are you up to next weekend?”

“Asking me on a date, boss?”

“Of sorts.  I’d like you to attend the staff appreciation gala.  To help me stay afloat, specifically.”

“Hmmmmm…only if I can bring Pabu.  And make a speech!”

“Negotiating with higher-ups already, I see.”

“What can I say?  I learned from the best."

 

//

 

“Jinora is coming back to the island this week!”

“That’s wonderful.  I’m so glad to hear that she is fully recovered.”

“Yeah, Katara is an amazing healer, especially when her patient is her own granddaughter.  But Jinora came with some bad news - people in the South are boycotting Nuktuk, for some reason?”

“Crude representation and highly inaccurate cultural depictions aren’t buy-ins for everyone, I imagine.”

“But Varrick is Southern, and directed it!”

“Exactly.  Who better to exploit them, than a traitorous warmonger that claims to _be_ them?”

“Oh, shoot! I guess I just hoped my acting was more tolerable.”

“Your acting is what salvaged any piece of the Nuktuk franchise.  But, regardless of the caliber of your performance, your character is inspired by the Avatar, a Water Tribe woman - our _Korra_ \- not a mixed Earth and Fire Nation, Republic City native man, pursuing a supermodel that refuses to wear a shirt in the tundra.”

“I...never really thought of it like that.  I always believed it was more of a reflection of _me_ than any Water Tribe member, let alone Korra.”

“It’s important that she be portrayed in a dignified way.  Korra is their hero, Bolin.”

“She's mine, too!  I admire her too much to ever disrespect her _or_ her tribe - I think I'll stick to technology and innovation with you for a while, if that's okay.”

“Can’t promise the business world does much better in that regard.”

“But you do, Asami.  We all trust that you do.”

 

//

 

“Is Mako doing alright?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.  I hardly see him - he even sleeps at the police headquarters!   You know, anything he can do to avoid this place, and Air Temple Island.  Even Pabu has started to miss him.”

“So do I.”

“Asam _iiiii_ ……”

“Not like that.  I just wish he was around more often.”

“You and me both.”

“That goes for all of Team Avatar, really.”

“You miss Korra?”  

 

His cocked brow leads you to worry.  You aren’t so much worried that he might know, the way Senna does, you realize.  But instead, you worry that he is correct - as he tends to be, these days.

He shakes his head, bangs falling across his face before offering a genuine smile.

 

“Good thing she is your two o’clock, then.”

 

* * *

 

“Come in,” you beckon at the sound of a tentative knock, though your instruction emerges with more of a waver than you had intended.

“Hey, Asami.  Sorry I am late.”  She appears absolutely spent as she drags a chair out from the opposite side of your desk, yet she still manages to smile, sheepishly, in such a handsome way - you imagine her father to be doing the same.

“ _Seems tardiness runs in the family,”_ Tonraq chuckles loudly through the receiver. “ _I_ _just dialed in myself.”_

She takes a seat, looking right at you with a shrug.  “Guess you just can't win with us.”

“Quite the contrary,” you contest, thinking it's thanks to her that this office is still yours.  That the world still turns, between her palms.   _Everyone_ wins with her.

 

The remainder of the conversation unfolds effortlessly, though the topic matter proves taxing and consequential.

“ _I_ _n order to complete the post-war reconstruction efforts within the proposed timeline, I believe we will need a few more high-powered snowmobiles, and a mecha tank or two in addition to what we already have_.”

“I can process that shipment for you tomorrow.  When do you need them by?”

“ _As soon as possible.  But you see, we are still facing some rather ornery spirits along the sea routes, both between the North and to the Republic.  Obviously this has impacted our ability to receive aid and cargo_.”

“Lay-Yi is quite skilled at identifying efficient trade routes, but dealing with spirits is not our expertise.”

 

(All this talk of the Spirit World and its intangible enchantment makes you both quite envious and selfishly delighted that Korra chose for the portals to remain open - you've gotten closer to spirits than you'd ever imagined possible, and still, you secretly anticipate the day that you might chance to see the place and all its mystery for yourself.)

 

“And navigating spirits isn’t the captains’ or sailors’ expertise either, which is a major problem.  Dad, we need more waterbenders learning to spiritbend.”

“ _B_ _ut who is available to teach them?  Eska and Desna have vowed to learn, but they are busy trying to pacify the Unalaq loyalists and Northern traditionalists_.”

"I'll request White Lotus sentries be assigned to the entrance of both portals, and that they figure out the whole spiritbending thing.  I don’t know how quickly they can learn, and even then, it won't be enough, but it's the best we can do while I am dealing with this spirit vine crisis."

“And in the meantime, Tonraq, anticipate a call from Lay-Yi, and prepare to receive two Republic City shipments carrying restoration equipment, as well as additional mecha tank support from the North.”

 

The discussion is tabled here, though not before Tonraq reminds his daughter that he loves her.  It singes more than you expect, such a paternal tenderness communicated through your own telephone line.  But then, Korra’s face dons another contented smile, making it all worth enduring.  

 

You don't adjourn with a formulated action plan, but this conversation is a step in the right direction.  At the very least, _you_ feel better.  While each action item may not directly relate to Future Industries, your conscience remains haunted by the damage your hands and name are responsible for in the South, and it brings you a rare peace to know that you are doing all you can to remedy your wreckage.  

(There may be other reasons for your vested interest, of course, but engaging with such thoughts marks a steep, dangerous venture.  So you busy yourself with the details - the shipment routes, equipment needs, timelines - so as to avoid acknowledging the big picture.  The one with a penetrating blue stare that follows you through walls, straight into your day dreams and nightmares alike.)

 

* * *

 

Tarza's presentation to the board retains a bit of bite to it, though without the threat of simultaneous world and company collapse, even he resigns to something more human than what he has displayed in your short time as president of Future Industries.

"We are receiving significant subsidies from the Northern Water Tribe, both for technician and operator stipends, as well as in exchange for equipment repair and replacement, especially now that we have deployed Lay-Yi's new maritime trade route.  As for the reconstruction efforts in the city, I can make financial estimates, though I'd prefer that Kunqou elaborate on the specifics of the contract before I commit to any economic projections.”

“It appears that the Republic will be dependent on Future Industries services for several months,” Kunqou offers with a grunt of promise.  “I will report back when I am briefed on the exact conditions and expectations the city has for us regarding the Republic City reconstruction project.  The is a city planning meeting early next week to address this.”

“Regardless, as far as financials are concerned, we are incredibly lucky things have...worked out, if one is allowed to say such.  But I am a mathematician, President Sato.  By principle, I don't _like_ to rely on luck.”  Tarza leans back against his chair, indicating the end of his announcements.

 

"Luck is contingent on image, of course.”  Yun, a small Earth Nation man with sharp style and even sharper features, takes hold of the reins seamlessly.  “And ours is precarious. As of now, both patrons and employees are wary of the Future Industries' branding.  I'm sure this is reflected in a decline in your main revenue stream, Satomobile sales."

A nod to Tarza prompts a reply. "Satomobile purchases have decreased roughly 14% in the last quarter."

“Precisely.  And we will continue to see a reduction in sales, if we do not work to remedy our public appearance immediately, starting with Future Industries’ mecha tank utilization in the South, and our participation in city infrastructure redesign with the intention of accommodating spirit vine growth.”

“Are you suggesting we curtail what are currently our most profitable arrangements?”  Tarza, suddenly alert, has his eyes locked and narrowed at Yun’s apparent boldness.  “I can ensure this - jeopardizing these commissions is an unforgivable fiscal misstep.”

“In the short-term, perhaps.  But what else are we to do, when the staff and citizens are so conflicted in trusting the Sato name?  In many ways, we are incredibly fortunate to have the Spirit Vine turmoil distracting the papers and the press, all minds and animosities far too busy condemning the Avatar and President Raiko to pay us much mind.  To state things bluntly, we’ve been gifted a public relations miracle, allowing us to just about sweep the story of the sting operation under the rug.”

 

The comment is more honest than unkind, but you wonder when you won’t feel so complicit in the defamation of Avatar Korra, the teenager that saved you all.  When such a statement won’t make your skin crawl, as though trying to scrape itself away from the dry rot of guilt and shame, spreading just beneath the surface.

 

“But we won’t be able to rely on that distraction tactic for long, if we continue to supply the South with Equalist-era mecha tanks, and accept funding to alter the infrastructure of the city as a result of a war fought by the very same equipment.  The global news circuit is fixated, all revolving around the negative impacts these events have wreaked upon the quality of life for people in the Republic.  And in many ways, when persecuting the iconic Avatar grows tiresome, unfortunately, all roads lead to Future Industries.”

An eerie silence envelopes the conference hall, each person aware that there is room for just one question, and only one person meant to ask it, no matter how dry your throat may seem.

 

_Control your destruction._

 

“So.  What do we do?”

 

Yun offers a sympathetic smile, before addressing the group with sincerity.  “As long as we assist with the Southern reconstruction efforts, we will need our presence there to represent a globalized mecha tank recall, so as to remove them from _all_ markets, including the unsanctioned ones.  The Fire Nation responded kindly and quietly to our request to seek and return mecha tanks, which works in our favor.  However, they only returned a dozen or so - meaning there are a good number of mecha tanks left unaccounted for, with only one place they could be remaining.”

“The Earth Nation,” you finish for him.

“Good luck getting a response from that corrupt excuse for a queen,” Lay-Yi remarks haughtily.  “I don’t trust her word any more than Varrick’s, especially with her known loyalty to Cabbage Corp.”

“We cannot depend on her to reply to our letter.  Instead, we have to act independently - _before_ another calamity occurs under our watch, in another foreign state.  We need to devise a plan to investigate and retrieve these mecha tanks on our own terms, seeing as the Earth Nation...leadership is not prone to playing well with others,” Yun trails off, almost resentfully, his life spent in the Outer Ring of Ba Sing Se unconsciously on display.

Tarza interjects, clearly frustrated. “So, what are you saying?  We send some ‘dream team’ out to find and contain these mecha tanks?”

Yun furrows his brow disapprovingly.  “That would be suicide, publically speaking.  We need a guise - a cover story or business purpose for scouring the Earth Nation, both to appease the Earth Nation royalty, and to avoid any more press predicting our involvement in international violence.”

“Okay, let’s say we _somehow_ manage to find these black market mecha tanks...what then?  Do we steer them through the deserts and swamps one-by-one, like parade floats, on their most _noble_ return to the Republic?”  Tarza suggests with bitter sarcasm.

“It doesn’t make sense to return them by water - we would need ships posted and waiting at ports surrounding the Earth Nation, and then traverse around the entire land mass to finally dock at Yue Bay,” Lay-Yi comments thoughtfully.  “And seeing as our rail system is not inter-state, we really only have one efficient option, which is airship.”

“We did discuss a product development several months before your transition into the presidency, in an attempt to compete with Cabbage Corp contractors as the leading airship provider to the Earth Nation elite,” Kunquo reflects.  “It is an otherwise untapped market, but an expensive venture nonetheless - luxury airships, with excessive bells and whistles.  But it would be capable of carrying several mecha tanks at a time, without the need to first reach a cargo port for ocean transport, while also serving as an effective cover for public and government interest.”

“You _cannot_ be serious.”  Tarza, completely baffled, peers around the boardroom.  “We are finally - _finally_ \- balancing the books, and now we are willing to jeopardize that in pursuit of the design and development of a high-cost, luxury airship to tote about the unstable Earth Nation.  And we won’t even be traveling to market the damn thing - we will be there in an attempt to collect high-powered mecha tanks currently in destructive hands due to a failed international trade contract?  You realize these are the same mecha tanks armed with missile projectiles?  With the power and accuracy to take down _biplanes_ , let alone luxury airships...am I the only able and willing to acknowledge that this isn't a strategy, but rather a ticking time bomb?”

 

“No, you aren’t,” you admit, almost quietly.  The room turns to you expectantly, as you confess, “But stability means nothing, if we have to keep tending to our own blood trails, repairing war damages branded with company technology and innovation.  Kunquo, please update the contract terms for the luxury airship.  I’ll have Hinku arrange production efforts to begin development immediately.  Lay-Yi, would you prepare a route for us to best explore the Earth Nation?”

“But you don’t even have a reason to go there!”  Tarza almost pleads, exasperated.  “No one is _inviting_ us to show up with high-end airships - this actually _is_ insanity, as well as a fiscal death wish.”

“I hate to agree with Tarza on this, but without a proper public cover story, rumors of our mecha tank roundup will reach papers, and may be wholly catastrophic for us,” Yun observes.

“I can try to devise a believable business purpose but regardless, ensuring that the mecha tanks are taken out of circulation is my priority.”  

 

Even if it’s the last thing you do, as President of Future Industries.

 

“Absolute lunacy,” Tarza spits under his breath, which you are inclined to ignore, if only to avoid losing your own head to his flame antics.

Your attention returns to Yun.  “And what am I to do in the meantime?”

“First is to proceed with the company gala.  It’s another un-budgeted expense, but it’s one that will sustain employee support, and boost morale, which enhances consistency for the company and its image.  Plus, you’re a pretty girl Miss Sato.”  He fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve absentmindedly.  “Pretty girls in a nice gown and mover make-up, splashed over the front page of the newspaper, always seems to help smooth things over.  But following such a high-profile public appearance - after major news outlets comment on how you appear so composed and surrounded by confident and hopeful support - I recommend that you find a way to make yourself scarce, and vanish from the limelight all together.”

You contemplate the suggestion, knowing that your name alone ensures paparazzi and fanfare.  There is no such thing as hiding in Republic City for one such Asami Sato.  “You’re suggesting I leave?”  

 

You sincerely hoped pain wouldn’t seep through the inquiry, each syllable revealing just how desperately you want to be somewhere you can call home, but again - it seems there is no hiding for you in this place.

 

“You have to understand the narrative.  Your presidency is new - so new that many of your own employees are still acclimating to the idea, let alone business contractors and industry professionals.  And since you’ve assumed the role, the single time you were here long enough to cultivate an image, you ran an illegal sting operation, and spread Equalist war machines worldwide.”

Lay-Yi contests with, "Hold on, President Sato isn't responsible for--"

"I _know_ that.  But, what we think and know and believe in this room?  Doesn't matter.  What is integral is what _they_ \- the public, the employees, the media - see and think.  In this company, and of Miss Sato."

 

_Control your element.  Control your destruction._

 

It’s a tough reality to contend with, knowing you’ve been absent for months, working against the harsh tundra, fighting to defeat chaos, only to return to your own uncontained mayhem.  To learn that, with your guilt-smeared fingerprints - red entrenched deep in the grooves, fluctuating between dark and bright, old and new, yours and everyone else’s - not even your own city can tolerate you, in the end.

 

_Who is the monster now?_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I was practically gone long enough to grow a baby (not to be confused with the idea that I did anything nearly that productive or impressive). I just...I am sorry. But hey, at least I am more timely than Frank Ocean. Or a certain series of promised Korrasami comics.
> 
> Also, mad props to these two for tolerating my nonsense and transforming this into something presentable. At this point, I owe them so many first born children that I should have used this time to gestate at least one.
> 
> [SarahDemo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahDemo/pseuds/SarahDemo)  
> [havuhadanosejob](http://archiveofourown.org/users/havuhadanosejob/pseuds/havuhadanosejob)  
> There will be two parts to this 2.5 filler book, because hey, turns out the plot holes between Book 2 and 3 are twice the size of the Grand Canyon.
> 
> For those of you still around, thank you all for sticking this one out, and reading. <3


	8. Book 2.5:  Tried and True, Part II

 

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

 

You can hardly recall the last time, the last _person_ , foolish enough to offer you anything of the sort.  And, frankly, you prefer it that way. Some things, like undeserved offerings of appreciation - remarks that teeter tenuously on the boundary between fantasy and reality; between unquestionable, unrestricted acceptance and contrived, conditional tolerance - are better left unsaid.

Yet here you stand, the Avatar herself staying you, her father’s farewell only just having faded over the phone line, and her gratefulness rattling somewhere between your ears and your disbelief.

(You consider – curiously, cynically – thankful for what?  Perhaps for you acknowledging your own hand in her tribe’s misery.  Or maybe the spirits have spilled your secrets, her appreciation inspired by the fact that you will soon be departing the Republic, tracking down destruction you've wrought across yet another foreign nation, allowing her the first true opportunity to fix things.)

She grabs your forearm without hesitation; the way she does every time she reaches for anyone.  You look only briefly to her hand, so as to prevent drawing unwarranted attention to, what should be, such an insignificant gesture.

  

“I almost lost him that day.  My dad,” she clarifies, but you still find it a bit farcical - the Avatar, protector of two realms and all who inhabit them, showing you gratitude for her father’s life.  The same man who owes you nothing of the sort, as Chief of the tundra devastated by a war branded with your last name.  Still, she emphasizes, “I never thanked you for looking after him.”

You manage to stifle a strangled laugh, though nothing halts a sharpness from slipping into the conversation – a needle burrowing in slowly, just pointed enough to pierce soft, yielding skin.  “That is not necessary.  Besides,” it seems you simply cannot help yourself, guilt scraping the words out from the bottom of your throat.  “I certainly never thanked you for putting a stop to mine.”  

 

_Control your element.  Control your destruction._

 

She releases you with a start, and her lips purse noticeably with discomfort.  In veiled panic, you realize that, embedded in such a tactless response, is perhaps the most personal disclosure you have ever made to the Avatar.  

With overwhelming desperation, you work to devise a recovery attempt; an apology, a diversion, anything to repeal the taut, irreparable tension you've inserted.  Your mind fumbles over something remedial - whether to remark upon your divulgence directly, or to admit that you are neither too proud nor too stupid to realize you were wrong, at the expense of this city and her tribe.  Perhaps this is the best moment to point out that if you had only just _believed_ her, then Equalist operations would have been unearthed far sooner, preventing much of the unfortunate mess she is dealing with now.  Or maybe, most importantly, and most ineffectually, you should use this rare, clumsy opportunity just to confess that you _never_ meant for any of _this_ to happen.

 

Ultimately unable to string a sentence together that isn’t wholly pathetic, or revealing, or inadequate, you resort to the motto that has become your default these days.

“Korra, I am sorry, that was -–“

 

  _Riiiiiiiing.Riiiiiiiing._

 

You all but scramble for the receiver, a hidden lifeline in a conversation for which you are nearly suffocating in honesty.

 

“Hello, Asami Sato speaking.”

_“Good afternoon, President Sato.  I was hoping to discuss the luxury airship budget ledger allocations with you._   _I am afraid we will need your input before construction can continue.”_

“Of course, Hinku.”  She nods in acknowledgement before you even manage to cover the transmitter, barely making out another, “I am sorry.”

Her brows furrow uneasily, wordlessly removing herself from the conference room.  You silently grimace into the handle, realizing that you and the Avatar both know - your apology has everything to do with anything _but_ answering a damn phone call.

 

Some things, it seems, are far, far better left unsaid.

 

* * *

 

“May I have a word, President Sato?”

You peer up wearily, Yun eyeing you from the doorway to your office.  “Of course.”

He speaks low and soft, and you wonder if your exhaustion is that apparent.  “I’ve arranged an event photographer, for the gala.  She would like to meet with you tomorrow in order to shoot some images for promotional materials.  Flyers and mailings and the like.”  He dips his head a bit to address you.  “I already cleared the appointment with Bolin, but I wanted to confirm the meeting with you, personally.  To ensure that you are...prepared, for a photoshoot, having so recently returned to Republic City.”

Such forethought does not go unnoticed.  “I will be sure to deliver their ‘pretty girl in a gown’,” you reply lightly.  “Thank you, Yun.”

“You _are_ a beautiful woman, President Sato.  You are also a smart one.  As such, I am certain this comes as no surprise to you, but --” he reaches to close the door gently, confining the conversation within the walls of your office, “we also need to talk about the biplanes."

 

You flinch at the topic.  Even while absent for the attack on Yue Bay, and Raiko's attempt to defend it, you are well aware that the United Forces now possess a military biplane unit.  And an impressively capable one, at that.  Far _too_ impressive, for having procured your father’s blueprints only six months ago.  Reporters, too, have begun to probe - curious as to how a United Forces Research and Development Team with no previous experience in biplane construction or operation, was able to deploy a well-trained, well-oiled Air Force against Vaatu.

 

“I have been in PR for a long time - long enough to have figured out how General Iroh assembled an aircraft fleet in a matter of months.  And long enough to know that you have it figured out, too.”

 

You aren’t exactly sure _when_ you deduced it all.  Perhaps as Bumi burst into his mother’s healing hut, providing an imaginative reenactment of the battle on Yue Bay, having been radioed just moments prior by a friend from the services.  Maybe it was when you finally _saw_ them for yourself - witnessed the sleek, sophisticated design - a far cry from the prototypes feasible for the United Forces at that stage.  Or maybe it was the moment you watched your father cry, shackles around his hands, knowing that the force wouldn’t allow such deranged, terroristic genius to lie dormant.  Not as long as he is Republic City property.

Such collaboration could have been mandated or forced as a term of incarceration, of course.  Or perhaps it was part of a plea and parole bargain - an agreement to shorten sentences and lessen charges for his imprisoned Equalists.  Or it could even be entirely voluntary, taking on some perverse form of redemption, or a lit torch of resentful revolutionaries just wanting the rest of the world to burn.  But you knew that your father’s cuffed hands were bound to the very gears of the fleet the moment you heard more military biplanes exist, paired with an armada of soldiers, prepared to strike on command

 

_Control your destruction._

 

“I have my suspicions, yes.” It takes everything in you to continue to look Yun in the eye, wondering just how much of Hiroshi’s mugshot surfaces through your very own portrait.  “I intend to meet with Iroh to clarify, though I question how much he would be willing to disclose anyway.”

“Hopefully nothing, if we are lucky.”  Yun finally sits, carefully perched on the arm of one of your office chairs.  “I don't mean to sound grave, but if and once that information reaches the public, solidifying our position in global violence, I am afraid this company’s reputation will be damaged beyond repair.”

 

You understand Yun’s euphemistic aside, more than ever.  And you know that he was right all along - you are left with no choice except to leave this place, if you hope to salvage anything of your company, name, image, and sanity.

 

“I apologize for being so forward regarding such a delicate matter, Miss Sato, but seeing as you are the only one with visiting rights - perhaps it would be wise to consider asking Hiroshi yourself?”

“That is not --”  Your hands slam against the seat of your chair, just to confirm you are stationary.  To check that the universe spinning around you is simply a result of nausea, instead of a targeted tornado, uprooting your entire world to ensure you will come crashing back down to a place that feels so unsettlingly unfamiliar.  “I will continue to focus my efforts on mecha tank retrieval within the Earth Kingdom, if that still remains an acceptable course of action.”

The mechas, at least, represent a problem you can address.  A mistake you can fix.  A violence you can stop and prevent - they don’t involve coming face to face with a man that both raised you, and tried to extinguish you.  Mercifully, Yun decides against pressing the subject.  Not here, in the privacy of your office, let alone amongst the more volatile members of your board.

“I won't be briefing Tarza on this matter.  As a man so wedded to short-term financial gains, I fear he is often blinded from seeing the bigger picture.”  He pauses, almost in contemplation.   “That being said, although we will do everything in our power to avoid such a thing - if the company fails, you will still want it to sustain a positive brand for eventual sale, rather than let it be stripped for parts, I presume?”

Through an exhale, you acknowledge the gravity of the suggestion.  Still, you nod sternly and without hesitation, the implication obvious. Your steadfast employees - Hinku and Jin, Konqou’s wife and son - are your reason to rise in the morning, and face each grueling day.  If ever the stakes become so dire, you will do whatever it takes to avoid taking all of them down with you.  For their sake.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, as well as your efforts to protect the company and its staff.  Future Industries’ true worth, as you know, has always been in its workforce.  I am and always will be invested in the future of the company.  However, if that future is only secured at the expense of the employees, then this will no longer be my company to head.”

 

In confirmation rather than surprise, he hums. “One can strive to retain or forgo their humanity, when in your position, when leading a company.  You have made it quite clear, I believe, which course you aspire to follow.  And with that objective in mind, it is my intention to support you in attaining it.”

“I…”  

His earnest pledge causes you to pause, verging on the edge of speechlessness.  You question what could possibly motivate a man in his position to be so unrelentingly sympathetic to a woman, a child - _you -_ in yours.  Maybe this is only responsive gratitude, as a man reigning from the Outer Ring of Ba Sing Se, to your deliberate efforts to contain your violence-by-association in the Earth Kingdom.  Or maybe it derives from a sort of misguided admiration, for prioritizing employee needs, outcomes, and well-being over corporate success or failure - yet another instance of being lauded for simply doing the right thing; for sheltering those that you have stripped of all known defenses.  (Though, the possibility of his sensitivity being stemming from appreciation for any principles put forth by you seems too unwarranted to be true, seeing as this entire crisis is synonymous with something as simple and complicated as your own name.)  

“I apologize for my ineloquence.  I know this isn’t nearly enough, but thank you.”

He waves off your comment politely.  “No need to issue thanks so prematurely - your company has persevered thus far through several attacks on both economic and PR front lines.  But you know as well as I do - it will _never_ survive an Equalist Revolution, a sting operation, civil war, rogue mecha tanks, _and_ military biplanes.”

Standing slowly, he slides out the wrinkles warping the front of his shirt.  It is soothing to watch, him flattening and pressing away each crease, stepping toward your office door.  As he reaches for the knob, he informs, “There is a saying in my line of business: ‘Whatever will be fixed, can be.’” Yun smiles at this, though not convincingly.  “I know that neither you, nor Tarza, nor myself revel in a reliance on luck.  But, given the circumstances, I believe we are compelled to consider making an exception.”

“Yes.”  You admit, “It would appear luck deserves a seat at the executive table as much as any of us.”

“And, for once, even Tarza may agree.”  He offers one last, respectful nod.  “Your time and counsel are appreciated, as always.  Good evening, Miss Sato.”

 

* * *

 

“Are we on track for securing a gala venue?”

“Yes ma’am!  I inspected a site yesterday, meeting the space and layout requirements.  It is in the Eastern quadrant of the estate, though it may not look exactly as you remember it -- the vines have done a real number on the place.”

“I imagine that is true most anywhere.  But we have to embrace the future.  It is even in the name,” you joke lamely, to which Bolin predictably beams.

“Fantastic, I’ll issue the final reservation this afternoon.  I actually can’t wait!  A night of dancing and music and celebration - this is the _perfect_ way for people to recharge, so that Future Industries can finally focus on what it does best.”

“Now I can see why I agreed to your delivering a speech.”

He elbows you lightly before prompting, “But you _are_ excited _too_ , aren’t you?  After the gala, it will be like before - spending too many hours fussing over blueprints and calculations, and less on international conflicts and civil revolutionaries.  Back to normal.”

His optimism stings, but you feel it best that Bolin remain unawares - that he not understand how his projection is decidedly impossible.  Or what could possess you to leave, so soon, for so long.  Why you have to abandon this city, your company, and his friendship in search of your own wreckage in the Earth Nation.  Why this gala is much more of a going-away function than any sort of fresh start.

 

_Control your destruction_.

 

And, really, no one has time to dwell on such matters.  After all --

“Yeah...after.  Everything will soon be back to normal.”

 

There is a party to plan.

 

* * *

 

While meetings with Chief Tonraq have proven conducive, obtaining support from the Republic - from _Raiko_ \- is akin to pulling catgator teeth.

“Future Industries, represented today by President Asami Sato, has provided much us with needed technical and mechanical assistance.  But without a statement from your administration officially recognizing and supporting the Southern and Northern Water Tribes as sovereign states, we are severely delaying reparation efforts and the recovery of the tribes.  With Chief Tonraq, Chief Desna, and Chief Eska’s concurrence, I request the Republic partner with us and Future Industries in our efforts to rebuild, and stand by us as the newly established, independent Water Tribes.”

The ask is impressive, possessing a certain political poise and salience complemented by an instinctual power so distinctive of the dedicated daughter of a chief, and the maturing Avatar of two universes.

 

You cannot say the same of President Raiko’s response.

“Absolutely not.”

 

You mask your disgust as effectively as Korra brandishes her own.

“A word of advice for you, Avatar Korra: never allow personal affiliations to invalidate your impartiality.  It would benefit you to remember that I am a product of the political progress we have procured in this city – the very progress I’ve advocated for my entire life.  I recognize that every statement I issue, and every matter I invest in, reflects upon this city and its administration, as well as the respectability of our republic.”

“Are you suggesting that the support of Water Tribe sovereignty and stability is somehow _not_ respectable?”  The inquiry is an intentional stall and derail, meant to allow time for Korra to adequately recover and deliberate.  Regardless, it is not a question you imagined you would regret asking.  “A rather contentious perspective, to be held by a leader of tribal descent, with a record number of support from constituents in each of the regional tribe communities.”

 

Unfortunately, your past is not one you can evade so easily, especially in the company of gluttonous wolves.

 

“Interesting that you should provide input on this particular topic, _President Sato_.”  Each syllable in your title singes the air with a hiss, an evident grudge, your refusal to support his campaign still a fresh blemish upon his pride.  “In the wake of a certain Equalist uprising – I’m sure you are familiar - this city underwent a complete restructuring.  New electoral systems, the reconstruction of a third of the zoning districts, and an effort to reduce inequities forged between communities since the city’s inception.  Our respected ally, the Fire Nation, offered substantial financial aid to support us on our path to stabilization, but I made the difficult and rather unpopular executive decision to refuse.  Do you know why that is?”

The condescension is practically palpable, as is the Avatar’s weakening hold on composure. You are inclined to interject again – to insert something, _anything_ that could be beneficial, but at the mention of your father’s historic impact on the city, you are wary to provide even a single word more, lest any remark tainted with your name harm more than help.

“As a burgeoning new democracy, it would appear inconsistent to accept aid from an aristocracy, particularly one managed by a family of influential benders.  What kind of impression would I make, in providing support to the Water Tribes, without a clear agreement and demonstration that both the North and South will take appropriate measures to ensure a transition to democracy?  The South was practically handed to your father due to popularity and renown.  Desna and Eska were ushered into their seats, even after supporting the Northern occupation of the South, and with immediate relation to your uncle Unalaq, whom my citizens remember only as the man that devastated the Republic for a second time with lethal dark energy and spirit vines.”

“And whose fault is that?!”  Korra finally explodes.  “I came to you to prevent that disaster by deploying the United Forces, a motion  _you_ rejected, and look at how _that_ worked out.”  She gestures to the window, vine ends jutting through, allowing small streams of sunlight to grace the floor of the conference room.  But more importantly, a leveled, shattered skyline - a story that will plague the city’s infrastructure and resources, as well as Raiko’s presidential legacy and Korra’s reputation as Avatar, for years to come.

“My commitment to the Republic means I have to consider the needs of this city before jumping headlong into yet another divisive civil conflict, no matter the scale.  That justification is still as valid as it is applicable - the current system of appointment for tribal chiefs works in fundamental opposition to the values of our democracy.  The Republic cannot and will not support such political framework.”

 

Hypocrisy and paternalism have never been so conspicuous - the broken systems of justice and democracy Raiko continuously promotes and flaunts, defined by a corruption and exploitation you’ve hardly any time to combat in light of the entire world and _your_ entire world constantly on the brink of collapse.  You are made suddenly bitter at the realization that, in your absence, this entire city will be left to his devices, with only Korra and her righteous indignation standing in his way.

 

“The Water Tribe leaders are picked due to their experience and devotion to the tribe.  Their lives are platforms, and accomplishments substitute as campaigns – in fact, the Southern Water Tribe was a republic long before this city was!”

Sufficiently frustrated, Raiko huffs at the Avatar’s heated claim before admitting, “I am not one to entertain conspiracy theories.  But beyond all this political ideology and moral high ground, the Republic constituency is equally as interested - and incentivized - by political spectacle and perceived motive.  Specifically with our four most recent, individualized, and publicized threats to the city being Yakone, Tarrlok, Amon, and Unalaq, putting both benders and non-benders of the Republic in an equal state of heightened alarm.  Not to mention, Varrick’s attempted presidential abduction, and the fact that many citizens still believe the North to be responsible for the Peace March detonation.  It is important to consider trends, and what jigsaw pieces the people are focused on and determined to shove together.  And what commonality threads these men and the events associated with them?  I assure you, if you cannot discern it, the public will happily and desperately remind you.”

 

It seems being away long enough to fight a war between worlds is also long enough to lose touch with the entrenched prejudices of the Republic - long enough to start to unlearn the socialized fear bound to and defined within the borders of a city.  Citizens harboring such unfounded distrust of the tribes comes as a disappointing reminder to you, though you aren’t sure what upsets you more: the fact that this deeply ingrained historic and cultural tension has since been sensationalized and reinforced, or that you have been too franchised and cloistered to anticipate such a recurrent hostility.

 

“Unbeknownst to you, I have been contesting internal legislation involving a proposed ban on tribal travel - something originally drafted in response to Yakone, but obviously a council including an over-representation of both bending and Water Tribe delegates, would hear none of it.  It was instantly repealed.  In light of recent events, however, and with a larger, mixed Congress, these sorts of reactionary measures manage to recirculate with more footing, and tend to gain traction at an impressive clip.  See me as your enemy all you like, but I have already put my neck on the line for the Water Tribe Nations to ensure they have adequate access to our city, and for the right to transgress our borders, fleeing your _anything_ but _‘_ 'civil' war.  Considering all I have done, the tribes should really send a representative with more gratitude, instead of one with such childish, misdirected aggression.”

While this nationalistic antagonism has managed to catch you off guard, Korra remains remarkably unchanged - unflinching, even.  But, of course, the Avatar saw this coming from worlds away.  She is a Water Tribe woman; she must have realized all this, in the days following her grand reveal of Amon to be a bloodbender.  Must have foreseen this perpetual divide by culture and color and creed.  This comes as no surprise to her - this is _her_ history, after all.

“I am not just a _representative_ ,” Korra snarls back.  “I am the _Avatar_ \- you cannot vote for me, or reassign me, or even have me step down.   I simply happened, I _exist_ , and you all are stuck with me.  So tell me - are you going to stop supporting your Avatar, too?  Because of where I come from?  Where we _both_ come from?”

“I am not so petty as to suggest that people cannot be _different_.  What I am saying is that I will always prioritize making appropriate decisions for this city, Avatar Korra.  I am the president of the Republic - its future is contingent on me fulfilling my duties to represent this city, its interests, its security, and its people.”

“And apparently Water Tribesmen and women are no longer _your_ people.  Thanks for clearing that up.”  She turns to storm from the meeting room, muttering, “Unbelievable,” just beneath her breath.

 

You offer Raiko one long, hard look, at which he hardly even blinks, before proceeding through the door she left ajar.  Bolin is found just outside, bushy eyebrows raised in question.  “That doesn’t seem like it went well...is Korra alright?”

Having undoubtedly witnessed that blazing exit, you answer honestly, “I don’t think so.”

He seizes your briefcase assertively.  “I’ll get the scoop later.”

You are perplexed, an expression he waves off hastily.

“She needs _someone_ , but I am useless - I don’t even know half of the story!  So stop stalling.”

You peer anxiously between the exit and Bolin’s reassuring nod.

“ _Go after her_.”

 

Eliminating any opportunity for protest, he retraces your footsteps into Raiko’s office, announcing, “Ah, President Raiko!  I figured a visit from your favorite celebrity bodyguard was long overdue,” before shutting the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

“I really messed things up this time, didn’t I, Naga?”

 

You rediscover her in the park, carelessly punting rocks into the stream.  Watching the ripples lap against the side of the bank, you quietly approach, careful to avoid stepping atop spirit vine patches.

The polar bear-dog halts abruptly, sniffing some nearby shrubbery.  “You remember this place, huh girl?  You remember Gommu?”

“This is where you first met him, then?”  You ask quietly.  She lifts her head to meet you, before plopping down on the grass in a frustrated fashion, her four-legged companion soon following suit.

“Naga and I caught some fish, and he popped out of this bush, asking if he could have one.”

You look to the foliage, before sitting down beside the Avatar yourself.   “Compared to the delicacies served during the Glacier Spirits Festival, I can't imagine the haul here to be all that appetizing.”

“You doubt my cooking skills, then.”  She snaps her fingers together, inciting a small flame to dance above them, though the humor quickly fades.  “I had no idea anyone in the city lived like him, or even like Bolin and Mako.  We would never let _anyone_ go homeless or hungry, in the South.”  Angrily, she sighs - there is a resounding soreness and resentment, undoubtedly carrying over from the earlier dispute with Raiko.

“That is how you knew to rely on the sewers for refuge, wasn't it?  Gommu would remember the favor, and be willing to look after you.”

“He was kind of my first friend, in this city.  Still, it was a _big_ assumption on my part, but I didn’t really have a lot of other options - not that people like Gommu have many options, anyway."  She gruffs in annoyance.  "I wish I could make Raiko do something about this, too.  There are real people, living in his sewers!  But if he didn’t listen to me about my own tribe, he definitely won’t hear anything I have to say about this issue, especially now that the vines are here, making basically _everyone_ homeless.”

 

You want to remind her that it is not her fault, but you know how little that can assuage guilt.  So instead, you vow, “It won’t be this way forever.”

“Yeah, maybe, thanks to you - I heard about the housing reform campaign.”

“It’s not _my_  cause, contrary to media portrayal,” you correct gently, surprised at her attentiveness.  

 

As part of your image recovery strategy, your board has enforced the public backing of several grassroots platforms, to demonstrate your investment in the future and stability of the Republic - an effort to re-garner public trust and loyalty.  Of course, you have trouble agreeing this is a step towards social progress, when it is so intimately related to publicized, corporate motive, even if it is your own.  You know first-hand that model is unreliable, and especially vulnerable to corruption.  But, as long as this glamorized, charitable sponsorship remains a philanthropic PR necessity, you refuse to invest superficially in causes, and _people_ , simply for headline bait.  And you certainly won’t accept recognition and credit that is owed to so many others.

 

“It is their campaign. Future Industries just pledges partial sponsorship.”

“Sure, of course.“  She clears her throat before quoting the Republic City Times editorial, “A ‘noble cause’, either way.”

“Money is hardly noble.”  The words escape courser than expected.  Hoping to avoid incident of exposure, like what happened in your office, you attempt to curb their grittiness with, “But, exercising such resilience and hospitality, makes Gommu himself remarkably honorable.”

They _all_ are, for what they did - taking in the Avatar, two pro-benders, and the president of Future Industries, with what little resources they had, all without expecting anything in return .  The only community of benders and non-benders, Water Nation and not, to endure the adversities of an Equalist revolution and a tribal Civil War with any evidence of harmony or dignity.  The ones that made it possible for Korra to bring down Amon, and for you to confront your father.  Who knew the pride of the Republic would rest with unsung heroes, dwelling yin below its surface?

 

“Yeah, good luck getting Raiko to back _that_ claim.”

 You wave your hand dismissively.  “No matter how much the President may deny it, Gommu and those like him are just as much a part of the Republic as he is.”

“Exactly!”  Korra nods in earnest understanding.  “Mako and I fought over this, once, during the war. He couldn’t believe I would ask the President to join a fight that supposedly had ‘nothing to do with the Republic’.”

Practically brand new to this city, the Avatar has a unique advantage in identifying some of its chronic, debilitating flaws.  She has realized that earning the right to citizenship in the Republic is a delusion; that there is no birthplace or list of good deeds, that deem you any more or less worthy to call this city home (your father is proof enough, of that).  She is also learning the hard lesson that a system perpetuating inequality, is a doomed one.

 

And there _it_ is.  

 

A specific, unmistakable tension, held hostage by violent pasts and an indeterminable future.  A word, a movement, a topic threatening to ignite at its mere mention - a conversation that, as a Sato, you've been dying to have and desperate to bury.

(Could it be instinctual, this desire to confront nonbender inequality?  Is it even feasible, once you recognize that you are in both the best and the worst position, as a wealthy and powerful nonbender preceded by an Equalist revolutionary, to fight against it?  When you see that your activism poses a great risk to you, an even greater risk to the people, and greatest of all for the Avatar merely due to proximity and ill-placed trust?)

You know that time is running out, and you will soon be but a distant conversation in this place.  Now might be the _only_ chance, for you to attempt to right this wrong.  To fight for Kunqou’s family, and their quality of life.  To pay respects to your mother, and resist against the many injustices that led to what happened to her.  To assert nonbender equality, like Spirit World integration and Civil Wars, as an issue worthy of time and attention from the Avatar.

 

But, even if now is the only time you have left - now is most certainly not the _right_ time, is it?

 

Bolin would be disappointed, you imagine.  So much for cheering her up.  So much for being a friend.

(Perhaps there is only so much that you can repair, in these streets paved with your infamy.  Perhaps any suggestion or plea spilt from your tongue is toxic, and should remain only a screaming insistence in the back of your head.  Perhaps it is better, for nonbenders to take up this fight alone, without your name tarnishing the very notion of justice and equality before anyone even utters the concepts aloud.

 

_Control your destruction.)_

 

You settle with, “Don’t worry - we will figure this all out.  With or without Raiko’s help.”

For the first time since her dispute with the president of the free world, she smiles.  She genuinely _believes_ you.

 

You only wish you knew that - even with your imminent departure, even with your twisted Equalist-leaning beliefs, even with the Sato name branding your every move - beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she should.

 

* * *

 

Rousing the standing lamp with a tug, your eyes fall upon your daily report. 

 

> _“Future Industries: Luxury Airship Prototype”_

 

Inside is a detailed narrative, outlining the model of the massive endeavor.  Hinku’s scribbled notes litter the sides - recalculations and adjustments, new model and blueprint projections - and you find yourself shamefully aching for a simpler time, when you were only left to devise and create, Hiroshi smiling proudly over your shoulder.

For much of your life, you yearned to fill his shoes - leading Future Industries was always your aspiration, a proud goal youwanted to work for, to earn for yourself.

But as you reach the report’s back cover, you are abruptly reminded of what it all means, to occupy his space, his legacy, and his animosity.

 

> _President Sato,_
> 
>  
> 
> _Any news on devising a business ruse for this luxury airship circuit around the EK?_
> 
> _I know I do not speak only for myself, when I report that the board awaits your plan with bated breath._
> 
>  
> 
> _Luck be with you -_

 

A revulsion lies embedded in the foreboding script – a certain condescension revealing the unaddressed note’s author to be none other than Tarza.  And, like the repulsion, the implied warning does not evade you.  You know as well as he does; this promotional tour will only entice public interest for so long.  It will only fool the media until they realize that you are spending too few days in the trading centers and markets and bazaars, and far more days scouring the sands and the swamps and the forests without negotiating even one contract condition.  The unsound ploy will succeed, only until the newest story of your mech-generated, international violence strikes the news outlets, allowing the people to piece together Hiroshi’s relentless reach and impact, and your cowardly attempt to cover his tracks.

As you push the report aside, and your resulting nausea down, you find that you have never comprehended the consequences better – that filling his shoes is the same as filling his Equalist glove, and his mecha tanks, and his contempt.  And you know how easy it is, to perpetuate his hatred simply by trying to fix its subsequent damage - by donning your privilege and curse, your power and badge as President or Daughter or Anything Sato.

 

_Who is the monster now?_

 

Sometimes, it is easier to believe fire really did manage to claim your legs, at the young age of six.  That those very flames successfully consumed your limbs, wrapping around them in a tangled braid, to stop you from leaving your destructive mark any further than your own nightmares.  You imagine it, and some days even wish for it.  That every last thing - just like your mother’s bones, flesh, and all, when you reached for her one final time; same as your father’s heart, pumping erratically to a pulse that signals only hate, perpetuated by a current delivered by your own shock glove - melts and disintegrates at your slightest touch.  

And, maybe, in the end, inheriting a legacy of destruction truly shouldn't be such a surprise.

 

_Control your element.  Control your destruction._

 

Maybe, it is exactly what you were always meant to do, as the one and only Asami Sato.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh...happy 2017...!
> 
> maybe 8 months is an entirely appropriate update gap, fight me. (I am sorry, don't fight me, use your valuable energy to fight violent rallies of bigots.)
> 
> Useless Fact: a lot of this chapter (such as the proposed tribal ban) was drafted before the 45th took office, believe it or not. Which is both to say that the current US administration did not bear a lot of influence on the chapter (though it may seem like it), and to point out yet again my outlandish posting/update delay. . .
> 
> i already started Book 3, so maybe that is a good-er, better-ish sign? It's gonna be a big one - there's a lot of ground (and holes, plot holes galore) to cover, so just know if you stick around, it won't be such smooth sailin' for our favorite industrialist.
> 
> these three lovely souls all volunteered as tribute to the hunger/spelling/grammar/content/hunger again/general debauchery games, so they are really the reason this chapter even survived its long, tumultuous journey to posting. i grovel a lot in their general presence as it is, but lemme do it some more for you brilliant, patient, snarky little angel creatures.
> 
>    
> [SarahDemo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahDemo/pseuds/SarahDemo)  
> [havuhadanosejob](http://archiveofourown.org/users/havuhadanosejob/pseuds/havuhadanosejob)  
> [Traeger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Traeger)  
> 
> 
> as always, thanks for reading this hot mess <3


	9. Book 3: Change, Part I

You know it is not a mistake, to trust and support Korra's uniting of the human and spirit realms after Wan decided to separate them, endless centuries ago.  But it seems the whole of Republic City is not so open to the decision.

 

> _"A few questions, please!"_
> 
> _"Avatar Korra! Do you regret the way you handled the Unalaq crisis?"_
> 
> _"Why are you forcing the integration of spirits in Republic City?"_

 

"Listen, I've been trying everything I can think of to get rid of these vines, but--"

  

> _"Why can't you fix this?"_
> 
> _"Are the vines here to stay?"_
> 
> _"Is this part of your New World Order?"_

 

"Look!”

 

Bellowing over the crowd, she alternates between looking sympathetic and exasperated.  Her abashment and disappointment are showing, but, then again - no protocol exists for merging two universes together, especially if your past lives are torn away from you as a result.  

“I just need a little more time to get everything back to normal."

Raiko vindictively interjects an allegation from the presidential podium, and Korra’s face contorts into a scowl. "The Avatar has put us all in a very difficult position. But my administration--"

"Oh! I'm _sorry_.  Did I put you in a _difficult position_ by fighting the giant force of Pure Evil that was going to _destroy_ the whole world?"  Gripping his chin between her thumb and forefinger, she shakes his head tauntingly.  "Maybe your administration could've handled _that_!"

"That's all!  No more questions!"  Lin inserts herself between the two leaders, their glares alone threatening to pierce through her armor.

Raiko is the first to retreat from the press conference, storming into City Hall, giving you the chance to approach, the Avatar's shoulders drooping and head downcast.

 

"This is a disaster."

"Don't worry, we'll figure something out," you reassure, aiming to provide comfort.

"Easy for you to say -- you don't have my poll numbers,"  Korra retorts.  "Eight percent approval? Who were they even asking?"

 

(The question itself proves unsettling, leaving you wondering. If you were not a part of Team Avatar - if you had not witnessed the reincarnation of chaos, and didn’t know the girl who ripped apart the very seams of time and space and spirit and self to stop it - would you feel the same, as the lot of them?  Furious and reproachful, with a staunch refusal to adapt?  Intent on making the Avatar's job more impossible than it already is?

You can’t deny that, maybe, their unsavory reactions reflect much more of you than you’d like to contend with, if things were any other way, and if you were any more yourself than circumstances have allowed.

 

_Control your destruction.)_

 

"You can't take that to heart. People are just frustrated."

"And I don't blame them.  I should be able to fix this! I'm the Avatar."

 

Beyond her, you are met with reporters’ leering eyes, preying on her uncharacteristically dejected frame and conquered disposition.  Each camera flash and scribbling pen rattles you, jarring reminders of their once endless pursuit of _you_ – your insecurities, your deficiencies, your weaknesses - in the wake of your father.  Anxious to feast on whatever sacrifices will satisfy the insatiable appetite of the tabloids – the unfit president of Future Industries, consoling a failed Avatar over her grievances against the city.  The very city reeling from the consequences rippling off of decisions from you both.

You move to serve as a shield, blocking their line of view - whether you prefer to believe naively that the press is removed from her mind, or she from theirs, you are not sure.  Regardless, with Korra in tow, you usher her away, disconcertedly leading the world’s most powerful, most defeated woman around the nearest corner.  You suggest immediately, gently, almost delicately, “Let’s go.”

“Fine.”

 

Her reply is so short, so agitated, so soft, you cannot help but consider the possibility that _you_ are as much the problem as you are the solution.  That perhaps your presence alone suggests an imbalance - one so intrinsic that the scales are bound to swing haphazardly.  That sheer proximity to the Avatar guarantees you both a sort of erratic undulation, a pendulum perpetuating inconstancy in equilibrium’s stead.  That you represent a reaction that thrives in a natural state of instability, remaining combustible to and with all things necessary for one to survive this place with any grace or dignity.

 

_Control your element.  Control your destruction._

 

Regardless, you ensure your pace matches hers without question, finding yourself suddenly on a ferry to Air Temple Island.  You inhale the sea vapor with relief, gratefully giving in to the reprieve that is so very temporary, and so very undeserved.  If only for an afternoon.

 

The Avatar, clenching her staff with a white-knuckled tension, stares despondently into the surf, the expression etching its way into your memory.  You look to your palms and wonder how steady one’s hands must be, to withstand even the slightest fraction of the weight of two worlds.  What it is like to be integral to the universe itself and its many universalities - balance and survival and peace and hope.  How much strength and fortitude would be required, to prop up the Avatar, the soul responsible for safeguarding and redefining existence.

Unfortunately, it is debatable, what _exactly_ a Sato's hands are better evolved for these days.  Construction and destruction can stem from the same inertia, both trails deeply embedded in your own fingerprints, marking you with a most unique identifier - a permanent reminder of who you are to this world, in opposition to who you wish you could be _._

 

A familiar nausea swells, and your eyes snap to the horizon.  It takes only a few abdominal heaves to realize that staring out to the mountains isn’t going to work, this time - that this isn’t a sickness stemming from the boat, or the sea, or the motion, or any force external to you.

Keeling over the guardrail, you try to remain conspicuous.  Your eyes seek the bay counterintuitively yet instinctually, the unpredictable, unruly, deep blue surf distorting any chance for reflection, dark, relentless peaks shattering the space between any and all recognizable features - your eyes, his cheekbones, her disappointment, their scorn.  Though your head reels, your stomach finally settles, with your face still interrupted against the merciful, merciless sea.  And you wonder, if there has been any other instance in which you have felt more grateful.  

 

_Who is the monster now?_

 

* * *

 

Lunch proves an effective distraction for you both.

  

> _"Bumi says he airbended!"_

 

The dining table erupts (in the most Air Nation of manners), you sitting between Korra and Bolin, the two almost too excited to eat.  And both most certainly too excited to sleep.

 

An inevitable, eager ramble persists well beyond dusk, the earthbender now supine over your pillows, and an Avatar beside you at the edge of your provisional bed.  There is an unprecedented number of occupants residing in the Air Nation dormitories – friends and allies and acolytes all recently displaced by vines.  And you hardly have time to spare here, really, too busy contending with your own imbalances to appreciate the peace and serenity cultivated by such a place.  

Yet, even with such enduring circumstances, Tenzin always offers and accommodates you, should you ever choose to stay. Perhaps it is habitual - a bittersweet tradition, ever since the discovery of the Future Industries-bred, father-led Equalist operation.  Still, it makes you think, rather credulously, that – even while bearing such a disreputable past life and present last name - this may be an island of second chances, if you ever allowed yourself such clemency.

 

The Avatar swings her arms forward, a certain characteristic, kinesthetic grandiosity that always serves to ratify her zeal.  But the temple mattresses are narrow and modest - you can practically swallow Korra's enthusiasm through her every exhale, and absorb the rumble in her chest with each charged syllable – you find yourself defenseless against the resulting shiver.

When she looks to you curiously, you assert weakly, “I always forget how cold the island can get.”

The observation notes a subtle, critical disparity between you and many in the Avatar’s life.  A marked difference between you, and her family from the South, well-evolved and equipped for the coldest of climates.  Between you, and the airbenders she lives amongst, regulating body temperatures as easily as they whisk away steam over tea  Even between you and Mako, a powerful suitor generating heat with a mere flick of his fingers.

 

_Control your element._

 

(You squash this stream of speculation quickly, shutting down any opportunity to consider what part of your head allowed such an unwarranted parallel to crop up at all.)

 

“You could always call for Naga,” she suggests playfully, tugging you from your thoughts.  “She runs even warmer than a firebender.”

"Three's a crowd," you jest through murmur, surprising yourself with a rare, disarmed smile.  She dares to (almost) smirk back, until a soft snore rumbles behind you.  “As is four.”

Korra teases, “Wasn’t aware Nuktuk was your type,” causing Bolin to blink his eyes blearily at the sound of his film alias.

“Did I fall -- Okay, okay, I’m up.”  Springing from the mattress, he stretches before casually pronouncing, “Love you, Asami,” and kissing your forehead.  “I’m so glad you’re here.  Bumi, a real airbender!  Can you even believe it?!  Who knows, maybe I’ll wake up an Avatar!  This is all so exciting, I may not be able to fall back asleep...”

 

His voice trails as he leaves.  Korra follows his fervor out to the hall, exiting with an easy goodnight, leaving behind a solitude that feels easier than any you can remember.

 

* * *

 

> _"Do you think being in the Spirit World during Harmonic Convergence could have given him bending?”_
> 
> _"I suppose it is possible.”_
> 
> _"Maybe Uncle Bumi is just a late bloomer!"_

 

Alight with early morning rumor, the news spreads around the island as quickly as the ring of Pema's dinner bell, as acolytes and benders alike gather to observe Bumi’s fervent attempt to demonstrate his own claims.

Across the courtyard appears the Republic City Police Chief, tailed by spent Mako.  It’s the first time he’s returned to the Air Temple, and the first he’s seen you, since the vine integration - predictably, he actively averts his gaze from your own.  But still, you can tell that he is utterly exhausted.  Tenzin breathlessly shares the news of Bumi’s bending, causing the officers to share a troubled glance, before Lin cautions, "I'm afraid he's not the only one."

Mako summarizes his encounter with another, newly minted airbender, now loose in Republic City, to which, naturally, Korra proposes, “We will help you look for him.”

 

(You worry that it stirs you more than she ever meant, Korra using such a small, inconsequential, two-letter word.  But it is the inclusivity that ultimately causes you to pause – she is not only offering to investigate the airbender phenomena, but intends to do so with _you._ And it all makes you wonder if finding a friend in the Avatar is really as treacherous or unconscionable as you always believed.)

 

"Where should we start?" she presses cordially.

"Oh well, you know...you should..."  Mako suddenly turns away, warily rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous tick.  "You should leave it to the police.  It's...police business, you know.  It's......official."

Whatever could be more ‘official’ than the Avatar's endorsement, engagement, or presence, is difficult to imagine.  As is the justification for openly refusing help from a capable airbender in tracking down an unrefined, inexperienced one.

Sensing his unease, Korra graciously attempts to pave over it.  "How are you doing? You know you're welcome to stay here instead of sleeping at the police station."

Mako provides a forced smile. "No, I'm fine. I should just...get going."  He glances cautiously between you and the Avatar once more, allowing you to finally – and mortifyingly - understand.

 

Korra doesn't really know _you,_ or anything about _you_ , does she?  Nothing that truly matters, anyway; nothing substantial.  Nothing about the desperation, the distraction.  The betrayal.  The mistake.  You are made immediately and shamefully envious of Mako’s rapid departure, as he shifts the burden of this confession - the entire reveal, your shared condemnation - completely on to you.  

 

 _(Control your destruction_.)

 

Disappointed in his rebuff, Korra meets you with a noticeable frown.  You grimace back, hands tightening into fists, squeezing against guilty dread as you realize you have overlooked something so essential.  That you have revoked her agency to make an informed decision, in choosing to be friends with someone like you.  That you have failed to disclose the initial misstep, now engrossed in a tactless pursuit of a convenient, circumstantial alliance turned burgeoning, willful friendship, without first divulging such a lapse in judgement to the person that deserves to know it most.

 

 _(Control your destruction_.)

 

Teeth and hands remain clenched as you extrapolate each potential consequence, once these truths and prevarications are unveiled, and this carefully contained information is exposed to the open air.  A mishandled secret well beyond its due-date, a forging of familiarity built upon a bed of unintentional yet inexcusable falsehood.

 

 _(Control your destruction_.)

 

Whirling through outcomes, you eventually find yourself in a garden that is all too recognizable.  The landscape alternates between chromaticity and ash, as your hands strike a match, setting it to a budding shoot that has just barely managed to sprout above ground, hardly breaching the surface – you only able to watch the flames consume and consume until there is no evidence that it ever existed at all.

 

* * *

 

"This is so exciting!"  Korra automatically reaches towards the handle of your Satomobile's passenger door.  "New airbenders in the city? I bet we can find that guy before Mako does."

She deploys _that_ word, again.  The one that you initially met with a hesitant, brimming excitement, but now rings with guilt-ridden remorse.

 

 _(I’m sorry.)  Control your element.  (I’m sorry.)  Control your destruction_ .  ( _I’m so so sorry.)_

 

Of course you agreed to look for him, refusing Korra’s implied invitation unthinkable to you.  But she doesn’t know that there is anything else she _should_ know.  Anything she should _have_ known, long before asking for your company without trepidation.

 

Without notice, you toss her the keys, Avatar reflexes proving as consistent and reliable as ever.  

"You know I'm not very good at this,” she reminds you, looking upon the keys skeptically, getting the message but not the whole message.  The part that says take the wheel, but not the subtext that implores her to take control, too.  The part that says drive as long as you choose, but stop, pull over, and get out, if and when this all gets to be too disappointing.

"You're the Avatar, master of all the elements,” you encourage.  “You should know how to drive. Besides, it's relaxing."

 

You soon learn that, while the Avatar may be gifted in all things elemental and spiritual, courageous and compassionate - taking to the road proves to be a challenge, the car jerking forward and backward, stalling at every inopportune intersection, a symphony of car horns surrounding your vehicle.

When prompted to try again, she responds with a motivated, Mako-inspired salute, and you laugh with her so heartily that the reality of things again almost manages to slip your mind.  However, fatedly, Korra winds the key in the ignition, and breaches the topic herself - the one that you have subconsciously dodged in these days following Harmonic Convergence.

 

"How long do you think talking to Mako is going to be like pulling teeth?"

You inhale guiltily, fists clenched once more.  "Well, Mako has never been the most 'in touch with his feelings' guy."

"So,” she leads, knowingly, “when I was gone, did he tell you that we broke up?"

"Yeah. We all knew."  Looking down into your lap, culpability starts to well up in your throat.  "Sorry."

"That's...pretty embarrassing," she says, a blush staining her cheeks as her grip tightens along the steering wheel.   

With shoulders tensed and eyes focused on the road, _she_ feels ashamed, causing your stomach to twist in knots. It is all too much - the pressure is too heavy for you _not_ to drag the expired truth from out your chest.

 

 _Control your destruction_.

 

"Actually, I need to tell you something about that, and I should've told you this sooner, but, while you were gone, I..."  She still has the keys, the wheel, full authority to say when this joyride starts and stops - it’s now or never.  "I kind of...kissed him. I'm sorry."

Korra turns to you, and you brace yourself, but she meets you with buoyant laughter.  "No wonder he's so nervous around us."

"You're not mad?" You inquire with immediacy, if only to verbalize that you expect rightful, justified anger, in place of her jovial benevolence.

"No!"  Korra sounds off, almost offended.  "I mean, I kissed Mako when he was going out with you, so."

She drops the information so casually - like your shared friendship matters more to her than whatever a kiss with Mako could ever dismantle. Disoriented by her graciousness, you act so as to prevent any expression of inelegant gratitude, choosing to counter and derail her with something markedly lighter.

"You _what_?"

The joke lands too harshly, and Korra backpedals with alarm.  "I'm so sorry! I thought you knew!"  

Her eyes fill with utter horror - not for having her own disgraceful scandal outed, but at the prospect that she had been dishonest. That you would spend time with her, when you were never dignified with the truth.

 

No wonder she and Mako never worked out.

 

"I'm just kidding."  You clarify, both accepting and providing relief.  And, with no thanks to Mako himself, you inform her, "I knew a long time ago."

 

_And forgave her for it a long time ago, too._

 

Her posture shifts markedly, and she releases her tension through another bout of laughter.

"Well, whatever happened with Mako, I'm glad it hasn't come between _us_.  I've never had a girlfriend to hang out with and talk to before, except for Naga."  She looks to you with a certainty that crumbles almost all of your defenses without permission.  "This is nice."

Tilting your head to offer a smile, you find it incredibly difficult to veil how much the comment affects you.

 

But, more interestingly - even with your unimpressive record for finding and making friends, each running for cover when your inherited, destructive, Sato torridity gets too close for comfort - you don't think you’re inclined to keep it from her, at all.

 

* * *

 

“Sorry I’m late, boss!”

 

Bolin stumbles into the office, hair disheveled, a spent look spread across his face.

You turn your office radio down.   “Don’t even worry about it - were you at the bridge?  Did you see what happened?”

“Yeah, it was crazy!”  He throws his hands in the air, animatedly.  “The new airbender was going to jump from the beam, but _Korra_ \- she talked him down.  Then his airbending slipped out and he fell _anyway_ and we didn’t think he was going to make it, but Korra caught him just in time.  And then _Raiko_ ,” he all but spits the president’s name, “He _banned_ Korra from the Republic!  Can he even _do_ that?!”

“Banned?”  You repeat with apprehension, before asking, “What will she do?”

“Oh, she already decided to look for the new airbenders around the world, so she can rebuild the Air Nation!  Isn’t that great?”

“Sounds like Korra,” you remark, though nothing can squash your growing concerns over the political distance between the president of the Republic and its Avatar - how such a divide will impact the still recovering tribal nations, and the reception of spirits and the newly discovered airbenders alike.  How this disconnect is paralleled globally, a fissure forged by a childhood contained in a compound, and an adulthood revolving solely around the Avatar’s hometown, the Avatar’s Republic, and the Avatar’s bridged spirit realm.  How this abstraction may be a circumstance, consequence, and mistake that the tyranny-led, mecha-ravaged Earth Nation, the Avatar, and you all will pay for, in the end.

 

“And here I thought things might slow down after battling Vaatu!”  He presses against his bangs, attempting to regain some composure.

“Was Mako there?” you prompt, with a degree of hesitation.

His hands drop from his hair.  “Uh, yeah...yeah, he was.”

“Is he okay?”

“Well…”. He draws, carefully. “I mean, thank goodness Korra was there to rescue Daw, but none of that made him _or_ the department look so great.”

“Does that mean Raiko reprimanded him, too?”

“No, no!”  He waves his hands, in emphasis, before grimacing.  “But Lin did.”

You frown, putting your paperwork on the desk, signaling Bolin to continue.

“She really laid into him, honestly.  Going on and on about his ‘lack of professionalism’, bringing up how he broke up with the Avatar in the middle of the precinct, and wound up _sleeping_ at the precinct, as well as his mishandling of the unstable new airbender, after turning down Korra’s offer to help which probably would have avoided this whole bridge mess.  And also, she said th-- no, that’s pretty much it, yep, nothing else,” he chokes off, anxiously fiddling with his sleeve, something he does whenever he is hiding something threatening to burst at the seams.

 

His reaction makes you certain she mentioned Mako's flagrant interruption of a suspect interrogation with Varrick, and his leading an unauthorized sting mission through questionable triad connections that resulted in a black market of mecha tanks.  And you are positive he was chastised for fraternizing with a victim and defendant directly involved in the case.  But Bolin places a lot of trust in your skill for deduction; he _must,_ really, being too kind to say anything quite so honest.

“What really matters is that she wound up requesting that Mako take a break from the force.  Administrative leave, or something like that.” He releases a large, discontented sigh.  “I don’t really know that there is much I can do.  I just wish I could fix things for him this time, for once.”

“You know, Bolin,” you start, conscious that, while not nearly as observable as his brother’s grand gestures, Bolin is always there for Mako.  Besides - it’s not as though _you_ aren’t implicated, in the mess of Yue Bay fiascos and irreputable department relations.  There must be something within your power to help repair, instead of contribute to and exacerbate, both Mako’s embarrassment and Bolin’s instilled sense of inadequacy, before you leave this place.

 

 _Control your destruction_.

 

“The gala is in just a few days, and we will be needing plenty of people for security detail.  Think you can help with that?”

He looks to you, somehow sad and hoping, distraught and grateful, all at once.  “I might know a guy.”

 

* * *

 

Your pursuit of new airbenders with the Avatar may have been fleeting, but an atypical visitor makes you realize such a quest isn’t as short-lived as you imagined.

 

“It’s so late in the evening, I was afraid I wouldn’t catch you.”

 

Air Nation robes, looking almost foreign against the walls of your corporate office, flutter behind him as he advances towards your office.

“Days have been long lately, but it’s always a pleasure to see you, Tenzin.”  You smile, genuinely, and he nods in respectful acknowledgement.

“I hope not to make this day much longer for you.  I’ll try to keep it brief, but there have been developments following Daw’s reveal and rescue, and it’s imperative that we have a conversation.”

“Of course,” you allow.

He continues with urgency - not driven by anxiety, but rather with excitement, and full of expectations.  “By now, I’m sure you’ve heard Korra’s announcement, about her intentions to seek airbenders abroad in an effort to rebuild the Air Nation. Luckily, we have already received notice of potential air benders scattered across the Earth Kingdom.”

 

_The Earth Kingdom?_

 

“We considered Oogi, of course, but that seems infeasible, given the distance and burden of such travel, especially if we acquire additional passengers along the way.  We also anticipate meeting with Earth Queen Hou-Ting, to discuss how we can best be informed of these benders, their whereabouts, and meeting with them to propose joining the Air Nation. Unfortunately, the Queen also has a known regulation against the presence of animals, and I doubt an air bison would uphold her strict regal presentation standard.”

 

_The Earth Queen?_

 

(Everything has already started to fall into place.  And, honestly, after all he’s done for you, you would give Tenzin absolutely anything, but not _this_.  Not something already so characterized by a sordid history and an incriminating present.  Not the voyage bound only to meet mechas - not the expedition looking for your mistakes, instead of seeking peace and restoration and a new beginning.

 

 _Control your destruction._ )

 

“The Air Nation doesn't practice ownership or materialism, and that extends to possessing substantial carrier vehicles.  But, perhaps serendipitously, I’ve also been kept abreast of your successful prototype test runs, as well as your impending tour throughout the Earth Kingdom.  To be frank, my hope was that you would allow us to accompany you through the Earth Nation, and on your journey to the Queen.  I understand that a few of our scouting destinations could severely modify your tour course and schedule, but I came straight away to discuss the prospect with you, and see if we could arrange something practical.”

Forcing the grin to remain sewn against your lips, you think of a cool, collected delay.  One that will allow you a night to compose a reply befitting of a president - one that says Tenzin is welcome to all of your time and resources, any ship or crew or excursion, except this one, and that you are sorry - but to deliver such a sentiment with sophistication and dignity, as opposed to defeat and remorse.

“I am delighted you would consider collaborating with us, and I look forward to working something out.  First, though, I will have to run this by my board.”

“Yes, I understand,” he hums, unsurprised. “Your financial advisor apprised me as such.”

“Tarza?”  Your very bones bristle, a dark curiosity now looming over the conversation.

“Indeed, when he called me this afternoon to propose that we combine efforts,” he says, innocently, though his furrowed brow indicates that he senses something is amiss. “Of course, I assumed you were heading the motion, and he assured me you would approve of the company, as well as the financial agreement.”

“The Air Nation is interested in purchasing the airship?”

“Well, leasing it, temporarily.  We will also be providing a subsidy for your crew, and supplies, pending board approval of the contract.”  He grips your shoulder, and squeezes lightly, clearly picking up on your discomfort.  “Asami, this is _your_ initiative. Right?”

“Tarza is rather proactive,” you avert and bluff, convincingly enough. “Future Industries would be honored to work with you to support the rebuilding of the Air Nation.”

“Then, you have our gratitude.”  Tenzin adjusts his robe, in preparation to depart.  “I know you set off in a matter of days - we will begin preparation tonight.”

““I'll finalize the terms with my board right away, and notify you with terms and conditions immediately,” you guarantee.

 

Escorting the airbending master out, you manage to maintain your composure and bid him farewell, before charging into a firestorm of your own.

 

* * *

 

“ _Tarza.”_

 

Hardly two knocks in, he opens his door with a casualness that you find surprisingly infuriating, and leads you to believe he has been expecting you and your rage.

“A rather testy greeting, President.”  He pats a chair easily, an invitation you won’t accept.  “I know you aren’t here for explanations, so go on ahead and say whatever it is that’s boiling your blood.”

“I did not approve you contacting Tenzin, let alone making a proposal on behalf of Future Industries,” you manage to grit out without a tremble.  “You deliberately bypassed my authority, and went well over my head.”

“That’s hardly a formidable counterpoint, considering you went over all of ours.”  He sips gently on a mug of tea, his comfort existing in blatant opposition to your aggravation.  “Just because we are bending over backwards to cover up your sting operation PR debacle, and fortuitously have the implicated support of the Republic City PD in veiling the incident, you couldn’t actually think _we_ forgot about it, too.”

“Seems we are both exercising some restraint,” you retort, granting him the same permission to speak that he bestowed upon you.  With the freedom to sear, he releases sentiment you’ve conjured a thousand times, that he seems to have bottled up for months, in anticipation of a moment just like this.

“Acting as an amateur president of a failing company, while simultaneously executing illegal, high-stakes operations behind the back of your own board.  If you are trying to make your father proud through emulation, then you are quite accomplished.”

"How is it that, regardless of relevance, you always manage to bring him up?”

“I _must_  highlight such a marvel.  After all, he is the reason you were handed this very presidency, and its power.  You’ve earned _none_ of this.  Not yet, anyway.”  With pause, he seems almost thoughtful, almost considerate, almost _hopeful_ , before shaking his head with condescension.  “It’s not like you were pitching any brilliant ideas explaining why Future Industries will soon be galavanting through the most remote, economy-less regions of the Earth Kingdom while on a supposed promotional product marketing tour.  So take your cards with some grace - this is the perfect philanthropic, anti-Equalist campaign guise, dedicating your brand new airship and it’s poorly-justified tour to the rebuilding of the Air Nation.”

“Not without a substantial financial package agreement.  Capitalizing on the very same persecuted, burgeoning Air Nation, for travel expenses we will incur otherwise is rather deplorable -- even for you, Tarza.”

“And how else do you intend this voyage be fiscally sustainable or responsible?  You have your own expenses here to think about, especially with no true intention to sell the airship.  To be candid, you will look like a president consumed with contempt, or a corporate imbecile, if you choose to reject Tenzin's generous financial contribution.”  He is confident, well aware that what he warns is true.   “Besides, Tenzin has stagnant wealth.  From mandated Fire Nation reparations, and his previous Republic City Council member salary.  I’m surprised you would hesitate in accepting those funds, considering you yourself professed the council-based leadership structure and subsequent compensation so unjust.”

“As is this!  We aren’t just touring the Earth Kingdom out of luxury,” you exclaim, swinging your hand out in a frenzied gesture, desperate to contain your own destruction and whatever it may look like under Hou-Ting’s rule.  “You are putting them all in danger.”

 “The mechas are already there -- their threat is inevitable, regardless of how much you naively wish you could compartmentalize such consequences.”  His cup clacks against the table with finality.  “There's no point in discussing this further.  If you really want to contest, sleep on it and call a board meeting.  But if you are truly interested in protecting the airbenders, then it would seem you have a chance to put this money to good use, _President Sato.”_

 

To your surprise and disappointment, you leave Tarza's property numb and without protest, even the chill of the night air managing to singe your thinning skin.

 

* * *

 

“This Gaoling mountain pass includes two bazaars - the villagers there have expressed desire for an airship for several decades, but have never pursued a contract due to a lack of infrastructure to support aircraft loading, docking, and storage,” Kunquo points at a section of the Earth Kingdom map stretched across the table.

“It is a logical stop,” Lay-Yi argues, charting a line on the map.  “Committing to this pass will add several days to the tour, but will also allow you access to several active markets on the other side.”

Almost instinctively, you turn your head to Yun, awaiting his guidance.  

“The villagers along the inclined trail are some of the first settlers in Goaling, and have several customs that are more traditional than what is practiced in and around the city.  For example, with meal etiquette, most beyond the pass will expect you to consume each dish in its entirety, while these communities believe finishing your food snubs your hosts by signaling that you are still hungry, and were not well fed.  Leave some on your plate.”

 

You nod, quietly, to three-fourths of your board, Tarza having promptly refused a seat at your hastily scheduled meeting.  It is an unintended gift, allowing you the chance to explain the Air Nation airship arrangement in a succinct, defeated fashion, without his self-satisfied ego suffocating you.

 

“Overall, this province is significantly under-resourced.  Its residents will need support in establishing a docking platform, and in undergoing captain training,” Kunquo clarifies with caution.  “Given the circumstances, pitching an airship from the economy line will be more realistic.”

“I’m sure Tarza will be simply elated to learn that we are considering financing an infrastructure project, just to overlook the luxury model all together,” Lay-Yi voices with laden sarcasm.

“It isn’t Tarza’s ideal target audience, I recognize,” you confess.  “But I am concerned about the consumer base he insists on building there.  I suspect that it ignores the transit needs and experiences of the majority of Earth Nation citizens.”

“As your contract advisor, I encourage the board to at least consider the opportunity.  They are eager to modernize their methods of transportation, and the investment will result in long-term brand loyalty within these communities that will eventually heavily rely on airships for transportation of both goods and people, as soon as their transit moves airborne,” encourages Kunquo.

“It's also great exposure,” Yun provides in support.  “A visit from President Sato to these mountain communities will report out favorably, with both Earth Nation and Republic City media.  Meeting with these villagers reinforces your public image of philanthropic corporatism, and is the next best thing to sending a marketing rep that is more relatable to our clientele.”

“In other words, let’s send a powerful company head, and hope that the commotion surrounding her celebrity status will hide the fact that we are sending President Sato in lieu of a representative that knows what it is to suffer under Earth Kingdom tyranny?” Lay-yi vocalizes. “These folk are isolated and desperate for any means of air transportation, and will readily accept our offer for development assistance, even when such an offer comes with purely corporatized motives.  But they won’t be fooled into believing we are there for anything besides business interest and capital gain, much less to relate to and empower the common Earth Nation citizen.  I mean, as much of a scumbag as he is, at least entrusting Varrick to coordinate with Water Tribe consumers demonstrated our commitment to a local, tribal buyer and distributor, solidifying our presence as a company vested in local interest, need, and stability.  And -- correct me if I’m wrong, Yun -- but I have a feeling that there is _nothing_ local about us tailoring airships, and our flight path, to prioritize and appease Earth Kingdom royalty.”

He hums, noncommittally.  “In Ba Sing Se, economic disparity is multi-dimensional, both within rings, and between rings, with the royal elite being the most bountiful and the most willfully isolated.  This divide is often extended, if not magnified, beyond the city limits.”

“Yun, always so diplomatic,” observes Lay-Yi, before admitting, “Us acolytes, we have sworn to promote peace, but are ourselves scattered across the turbulent Earth Kingdom, and have been for a long time, without addressing the conditions there. We excuse our inaction by funneling our hopes and resources into Aang’s Republic, and prioritizing his lineage of benders.  And we only chance meeting and navigating the Earth Nation suffering at our doorstep, when enticed by something as chance, pivotal, cosmic, and self-preserving as brand new airbenders, and the Avatar’s mission to find them.”

 

The rooms stills at her honest dissection, such applicable and relevant criticisms and warnings ringing in your head.  With such clairvoyant understanding of Aang and Tenzin’s flawed leadership, you wonder - what in the world is she still doing, sitting at a table next to someone like you

_Who is the monster now?_

 

She shakes her head soberly. “All I’m saying is, I know we are strapped for cash, and time.  But maybe, as Future Industries, or even just as Asami Sato, we can do a little better.”

You want to do better.  Of _course_ you want to do better.  But you also know, you are almost inevitably destined to disappoint.  So you nod, and nod again.  

 

“Where to next?”

 

Right now, that is the best you can do.

 

* * *

 

“Bolin, _no_.”

“Asami, _yes_.”  He splays his hand flat over your files, Korra watching the interaction with amusement.  “You just spent the last three hours finalizing Earth Kingdom coordinates with Tenzin.  The sun is down, Pema is about to serve dinner - business hours are officially _over_.”

“There's still a lot to get done,” you attempt, to which he serves you a feigned glare.

“Don’t make me sic the Avatar on you.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you reject, with mock offense.

“Then Korra is perfect for the job!”

She questions, accusingly, “What's  _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Alas, no time to explain!  No, seriously, I _really_ have to go meet my brother for dinner now, or I swear Mako will start avoiding me, too.”  He grips Korra’s shoulders pleadingly.  “The gala is tomorrow, and we ship out the day after.   _Please_ don't let her work too hard.”

“Yes, sir.”  Korra affirms as Bolin rushes out.

Rolling your eyes, you suggest without any seriousness, “I’m sure you must have somewhere to be Avatar-ing.”

Chuckling, she says, “Probably.  Not that Raiko will let me.”  She looks down to your files curiously.  “What is there to work on, anyway?  I thought the ship was done.”

You inhale your hesitation, before releasing it as an unintended laugh - the airship _she_ knows may be complete.  But, of course, you can’t tell her about _your_ airship - the one with a reinforced loading hatch lift to endure the loading and unloading of mecha tanks.  Can you?

 

You decided long ago - distance and containment serve as forms of protection, too.  For you, and everyone within range.  So, while it hasn’t worked in your favor so far, it hasn’t exactly failed you, either - you choose to rely on your desperate desire for and refined skill of diversion.

 

“Like you have room to critique anyone for working too hard.”

“You are the only person in this city that thinks that, at this point,” she admits candidly, with a hint of sullenness.

You know that cannot be true - after all she has done, and all she has sacrificed, personally or abroad.  But whether people see that or not, it sounds like she is in need of a distraction, too.  

 

“Well, I find your work ethic obvious,” you offer in an exaggerated tone, finally tucking the folder away for the night.  “Especially when the Avatar herself works so hard to impede me from doing my own job.”

With a carefree laugh, she smiles victoriously.  “Sure beats _real_ work, no?”

You shake your head at the notion that she has won, knowing that anyone that gets too close to you has the burn marks to prove it.  But also realizing that, when it involves having Korra as a friend, her victories almost always belong to you, too.

 

* * *

 

It’s almost midnight, and the ring tone continues to rumble through your transmitter.  You’d think the call useless, if you didn’t know the receiver so well.

 

“ _Republic City Police Department, what’s your emergency?_ ”

“Hey, Mako,” you issue the greeting that is aged, yet all too familiar.  “Sorry for calling so late.”

“ _Oh, hi, uh,  Asami_.”  Mako clears his throat, possibly from surprise, but probably from discomfort.

“It’s been a while -- how have you been?”

“ _I’ve been, ah, busy.  Just really, really busy_.”

“I understand,” you assure, not pressing him to share.  “I heard we will be missing you at the gala, too?”

“ _Oh, yeah.  I can’t make it_ ,”  Mako confirms bluntly.

“In that case,” you transition with encouragement, “I was hoping I could interest you in a different security opportunity?”

“ _Another contract with Future Industries?_ ”  He asks, skeptically.  “ _But aren’t you leaving to the Earth Kingdom?_ ”

“Exactly,” you confirm, causing him to grunt discontentedly at your implication.

“ _I can’t even work the gala, let alone leave for the Earth Nation at a moment’s notice.  I have a job to do here, Asami_ ,” he bluffs, convincingly, though you catch the stinging resentment. There’s no denying it - this is the Mako you remember so well.

“I just thought you would find a temporary alternative exciting, as a part of the airship’s security detail.  Maybe get away from the city, and the force, for a while.  I guarantee you would be competitively compensated,” you bribe, hoping to appeal to his sense of obligation around earning an income, and determined to use Tenzin’s deposit to better secure your airship and its passengers.

 

Unfortunately, he sees right through your cover.  Seems he might know you better than you realized, too.

 

“ _Bolin said something, didn’t he_.”  It’s not a question, as his annoyance drips over the accusation.  

"He tends to do that,” you say, an opportunistic jab at Mako’s secret kiss with the Avatar.  You almost wish you could take the words back, when he fires off questions with acute irritation.

“ _Why are you even going, anyway? What’s the point in calling me, when any firebender would take this gig?  How does it help you, putting together some idealistic Team Avatar in the Earth Nation that includes your ex-boyfriend, when you should be running your company here?_ ”

 

Trademark firebending defensiveness - in all your time spent beside firebenders, you’d be able to recognize it anywhere.  He feels too vulnerable and exposed to cooperate.  And you know the only way forward is for him to have control, or at least the illusion of it.  If you want Mako to join you in Earth Kingdom, to bring Bolin some solace, and to provide your airship with an extra layer of firepower should you successfully discover your own, you have to give him some kind of leverage. Dirt tracks that lead back to your doorstep, an incrimination that lifts him from direct ridicule.  At this point, what do you have to lose, anyway?

_Control your element.  Control your destruction._

 

“My mechas, Mako.”  Admitting it out loud - outside of your board, beyond your conference room - it almost forces you to swallow your confession all together.  “They are in the Earth Kingdom."

If he feels any guilt over his role in the sting operation, it certainly doesn’t translate over the phone.

“ _How many?_ ”

“We don’t know.  Dozens, at least.”  You sigh, before desisting, “Just consider the offer.”

He gruffs – a better response than verbalizing his anger directed at Bolin’s honesty.  But there is a familiar hesitation, even with your blatant transfer of power into his own firebending palms.

 

Mako isn’t a man of clarification.  He operates under the ideology that there is plenty of information people don’t need to, and never _should_ , know.  You wonder if this is an elaborate coping mechanism, from a boy turned man too sharply - an incredibly young, older brother, withholding stories and details and struggles so that his Bolin can sleep at night with a smile upon his face.  And a man turned boy so suddenly, with an immediate, visceral response, when he feels anyone has overshared on his behalf, marring his role and image as a protector to those he cares about.  To his brother.  To you.

To the beloved Avatar.

You wonder if such reluctance stems from his lack of disclosure - not about his enforced leave of absence, but about his willful physical indulgences with _you_.

 

Guess you have to take the power back, if just for a little while.

 

_Control your element.  Control your destruction._

 

"I told her, by the way.  About us."

 

Mako hangs up, which is about what you expected.  You know this was a tipping point – reigniting his irritation towards Bolin, and forging a new frustration with _you_ , for having revealed so much outside of his control _._  You imagine he thinks it better to hang up now, before proving that he cares for you both.  Before showing that he trusts you, enough for you to have the power to get under his skin.  Before exposing himself too honestly, again. After all, you two aren’t in a toxic, combustive relationship anymore, built on superficial attraction and deceit.

_Control your destruction._

 

Even so - you still know him well enough to know that he didn’t say no.

 

* * *

  

Commanding the crowd at the Sato Estate, Bolin retains the attention of the entire gala through a charged address.

 

> “I am so grateful to you all, for giving me a chance to help this company thrive.  And the same way you believed in me, I believe in Future Industries.  Together, with President Sato leading the way, we are capable of just about anything.”

 

He keeps the crowd enraptured by his positivity and his enthusiasm.

 

That is, until _he_ doesn't.

  

> “Now, most of you may remember me as Nuktuk, ‘Hero of the South,’ and valiant rescuer of President Raiko.  But I’d like to introduce  _my_ personal hero; please put your hands together the _real_ Nuktuk, Avatar Korra!"

 

Even bearing such unfavorable ratings, people know what an honor it is, to be in the presence of an Avatar’s lifetimes just once in their own.  The ballroom erupts with uproarious applause, as you try to hide your surprise from your own employees.  

Gliding to the podium, she dons a simple, elegant, sleeveless dress, a slightly darker hue than her irises, the bottom scarcely skimming the floor.  Bolin sends you a smug wink from the wings of the stage before Korra speaks.

 

> "As you all know, I don’t really have this whole ‘Avatar’ job down yet -- otherwise, your ballroom would have a roof instead of an observatory.”

 

She clears her throat and points upwards. Spirits hover overhead, peering through various vine-forced entrances, observing the festivities with curious eyes.

 

> "What that means is your job isn't done.  I want to serve you as best I can, but I can't protect this city alone.  Trust me whene I say, now more than ever, the Republic needs you - _all_ of you.”

 

She looks to you then - a confirmation, of sorts; that maybe she's not just here for the company, or Bolin, or even because she is the Avatar.

  

> "I know I can always rely on Future Industries and the work that you do, to better our world.  For benders and non benders, for Water Tribe nationals, for spirits and humans.  For all of us.  And as your Avatar, you have my thanks.”

 

It takes you a few moments to realize that she has finished, the room shaking you from your stupor with a cacophony of applause all over again.

She removes herself from the podium, and you continue your gala rounds, giving and fielding countless salutations from a seemingly infinite number of attendees.  You can see that the crowd seems changed.  Reengaged, recharged, and most of all, optimistic.

 

But, what surprises you most - as Bolin beams, and Jinju shows off her grandchildren, and Korra’s skin shines under starlight - is that you think you just might feel hopeful, too.

 

* * *

 

The event begins to wind down to a close, so you attempt an escape to the nearest balcony.  But instead you open the doors to an unexpected figure, leaning over the railing.

 

“Didn't take you for one to shy away from a crowd,” she teases, slightly adjusting her armband.  “Especially your own.”

 

“Couldn't you get in big trouble for _not_?”  You smile easily, walking up to meet her, turning to rest your elbows over the ornate guard rail.  “You did sign a media release form at the door, you know -- it’s only a matter of time before Raiko’s administration will be tipped off that you were here, if they haven’t been already.”

“Well, creating a spectacle is kind of the point of this whole thing, right?”  You hum in amused agreement, before she winces.  “I’m just sorry the vines installed a skylight.  That wasn't exactly part of the plan.”

You catch her eyes with purpose, before gesturing to the shattered Republic City skyline.  “No matter what Raiko says, none of this is your fault.”

Korra shakes her head calmly.  “None of this is on you, either.”

 

The rebuttal catches you by surprise - a second occurrence, from the Avatar tonight.  She follows up before you can respond.

“You are not responsible for his mistakes.”

It is such a blunt acknowledgement, that you shift your weight from foot to foot, testing to find the tension or the discomfort.  And, though you don’t think you feel any, you rely again on diversion to protect you, just in case.

“Bolin said something like that, once.”

“Bolin?”  She inquires without any real shock.  “Sometimes I wonder which of them is the detective.”

 

The night air settles around your mutual appreciation for the man that brought you both here.  You aren’t really sure how long you find peace along the railing, before Korra speaks up.

“I better head home,” she says, pushing herself away from the balcony edge.  “Big day tomorrow.  Right, captain?”

“Right. And, also,” you start, her turning to face you one last time.  “Just, thanks.”

 

For the speech.  For the friendship.  For saving the world.  For everything.

 

She smiles as though she understands, and says, “You, too,” before retreating through the ballroom doors.

  
At last, you achieve some semblance of solitude - besides, you weren't _seeking_ company. Not on this terrace, not in the Earth Kingdom, and certainly not on this harrowing journey as a Sato.  But it seems the incendiary presence of the Avatar, of a friend - _your_ friend - of _Korra_ , forces you more open than closed, all doors ajar, windows unlocked, and vine-shaped reveals punctuating the ceilings.

You think it ultimately dangerous, this unbarred access and exposure, for an unrestrained flame such as this, to advance. A flame left whipping and lashing against your lonely balconies and your cracked guardrails and your shattered legacy and your broken home and merely your existence.  A flame that convinces you to stop managing expectations - both of others, and of yourself.  A flame that makes you ask yourself if you are actually healing, at the hands of Bolin and Korra’s kindness, or simply succumbing and acclimating to a warmth that has felt so distant and undeserved - a comfort enabled strictly by cosmic fluke, inevitably meant only to abandon you once again.  A flame you don’t dare to extinguish, yet you suspect can offer nothing more than a grazing of your senses, fumes to choke on, the exhaust surrounding you with no escape.

 

_Control your element.  Control your destruction._

 

Regardless, there is an unalterable pressure now resting along your ribs.  A kindling, gathered precariously in the hearth of your chest - doubt-doused firewood of atonement, hopeful sparks leaping between the timber, both pledging and threatening to set it on fire, despite everything - as you wait and watch and wait and watch for it to light all that you know.

 

As you wait and fear for it all to go up in smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8500 words just to cover one. damn. episode. 
> 
> this essentially means that Book 3 will only be completed once I'm dead and writing fic from the afterlife and I'm sorry in advance for the inevitable delays.
> 
> Looking back through my notes, I left a reminder to compose a "clever" thank you note/acknowledgement for the lovelies below for putting up with me and making this calamity less calamitous, but it autocorrected to "cleaver", and I think I'll just take that as a sign and stop. (but really though, they are a chimera of brilliance - complete with squawking and "stop that's not good, what the hell were you thinking, delete that rubbish immediately omg"s - so whatever you may have found enjoyable in this was probably their idea.)
> 
>    
> [SarahDemo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahDemo/pseuds/SarahDemo)  
> [havuhadanosejob](http://archiveofourown.org/users/havuhadanosejob/pseuds/havuhadanosejob)  
> [Traeger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Traeger)  
> 
> 
> Also, I really just have to say this because basically i never post, period. but this also means I never post around American "holidays" and I think it's so important for Americans and non-Americans to be thankful to whatever they've gotten out of a universe as groundbreaking as LoK's, the characters, and their stories. But we also need to remember that many of the characters we admire and cherish and love are inspired by the incredible indigenous peoples of the world that have to endure a nearly endless, globalized celebration and dismissal of their colonization, invisibility, and grief - not just on Thanksgiving, but every day. And I just think that we often times only recognize the culture and the people in a way that manifests without solidarity, without awareness, and at their expense. So, if I'm reaching any people that love these characters, then I just have to put that out there, and hope that resonates beyond this author's note, and beyond this silly little fic.
> 
>  
> 
> And thanks as always for reading. <3


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